A Rose Among Thorns
by MusicalLife17
Summary: The story was legend. But the truth was an entirely different matter. The truth remained that nobody knew the tale of the Phantom of the Opera, not the whole story. This story happened in a time before fallen chandeliers and haunted halls and long before anyone had ever heard of Christine Daae... Also posted on Ao3
1. Prologue

_Paris, 1919_

The last breath of autumn was in the air. Leaves littered the streets, hurriedly making their way across the wind to wherever they would lay. Soon, winter would be here once more and the snow would invite the people of Paris to stay indoors whenever possible.

The day seemed cold, bleak almost. The lustre and desire for life seemed long since abandoned in this part of town. What was once a city of spectacle and wonder seemed almost grey as the years passed fleetingly, quicker each year it seemed.

She had missed the city. She had forgotten how beautiful it could be. Couples were walking arm in arm, enjoying the mild weather while they had a chance. The children ran along the streets, playing on the steps of buildings long since desirable.

Growing up it had been a rare luxury, visiting the city. Her small, seaside cottage and the town it was nestled in was the only life she had known for so long, her love for the streets of Paris seemed to grow with each visit. Even as she grew older, and need for the short carriage ride into town became more frequent, the wonder never ceased. She would come to town, collecting things for her brother and sister, for their children. Her father's old age required the most care in passing days, not that she begrudged it at all.

She had returned to town in need of running errands. With everyone frequenting the family home more and more in passing days to sit with their father, nobody sure of when the time might come for him to leave, she was more than happy to take a few hours and head into town, both for necessity and for a small reprieve.

The hems of her skirts collected dust as she walked the streets amongst the passersby. Motorcars were becoming more and more present in the streets. The very idea that horses were no longer needed was so strange yet mystifying, even after their first appearance.

Crossing the street, she noticed something, and paused. Gazing upon the decaying building in front of her; she hadn't even realized where her feet had taken her. Had she not known, she never would have recognised the one glorious building before her.

The Opera Populair.

Once the home of the greatest performances the world had ever seen, now noting but a hollow shell of past grandeur. Statues guarding the front steps were broken and missing limbs, while the lanterns lining the entry were cracked and broken, and those still standing looked as though they hadn't seen a light in many, many years. Every window had been boarded up and condemned.

It had been some decades since the opera house had been in full use. The great fire almost half a century earlier had scared most of the clientele away, and the final performance had how been ten years ago at least.

It was painful almost, to see such renowned beauty in complete disarray. She had seen the magnificence of years past, only once before, many years ago. It was a corner stone in the history of the city. Many stories had begun there; tales bearing happy memories and some that most would often fight to forget.

But most importantly, it was the setting for the greatest story ever told.

She smiled to herself, fabled words and whispers of a time since gone began swirling in her head. She knew the stories by heart, despite it being many years since anyone she knew having been anywhere near the building.

Just as she was about to make her way, something caught her eye; a banner on the front of the building, in dark, bold letters.

 _Public_ _Auction Today_.

Her curiosity seemed to be getting the better of her, a trait that she had inherited from her mother. She had time before her next appointment, and there was a voice inside telling her that she needed to see inside, at least once more. Without any further hesitation, she crossed the street, headed towards the dilapidated building, scaring a flock of pigeons as she crossed their path.

It was as though she was stepping into a dream. The once grand staircase was now a decaying home for dust and spiders webs, rather than the inviting illusion it had been in its prime. If she listened carefully, she could still hear the music playing, the sounds of conversation in the air, like the distant memory that they were.

As she made her way inside, she could hear the echoing voice of the auctioneer from deep within, guiding her towards the main auditorium. The heels of her boots click on the hallowed hall as she made her way inside. Seats what were once the richest of scarlet had been pulled and unbolted from the ground, tossed aside or piled against the wall. The peeling walls were aligned with scorch marks and burns of varying measure, though age had decayed them beyond repair.

"Sold... your number sir?"

There's a small crowd, roughly a dozen people or so gathered around the remains of the main stage. Most she could tell were there simply out of interest, perhaps hoping to find a good deal on a piece of history, or something that would get them a few extra francs before the winter.

As she made her way closer to the stage, weaving through the crowd to stand towards the front as the auctioneer began bids on a poster of the infamous La Carlotta. Looking around, she came across a familiar face on her right. The woman's eyes fell to hers, sending her an inquiring gaze. She merely smiled and shrugged nonchalant, leaving the silent conversation at that.

The bids continued for the item as her gaze once again shifted across the room. Everyone looked rather bored and uninterested, not that she could blame them entirely. Her eyes soon fell on an older gentleman seated in a wheelchair. He had aged since last she saw him, now an elderly man, but there was no denying who he was.

The Vicomte de Chagney raised his head slowly, his eyes looking from the stage around the room until at last they landed on her. They widened in slight disbelief at seeing her there after so many years. She smiled softly nodding her head in greeting, as he tipped his hat with a fragile hand. No words were exchanged. None were needed.

"Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: A papier-mâché musical box in the shape of a Barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey, in Persian robes, playing the cymbals..."

Instantly, her head turned towards the stage, eyes wide with shock at the words just spoken. It couldn't be? So many years of hearing stories, of hearing the tune hummed as a lullaby. There was no way it could have survived.

"This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order, ladies and gentlemen." The auctioneer said as the porter walked out carrying the music box. She felt her breath leave her body as it was brought forward.

"Showing here."

All of a sudden, the monkey began to move, clapping it's cymbals ever so lightly as it's sweet yet haunting melody filled the room. She closed her eyes, the soft sound taking her back so many years. If only she could bring that back home with her. For him to see it on last time.

 _A collectors piece indeed. Every detail...exactly as they said._

"May I commence at fifteen francs?"

Immediately, she raises her hand, without fully realizing she had done so. But he knew she couldn't regret it.

"Fifteen, thank you Madame. Now...yes, twenty from you sir." Her eyes widened as she turned, following the Auctioneer's gaze, seeing the Vicomte's nurse lowering her hand. Her brow furrowed in confusion; what could he have wanted with that? There were so many other treasures, other memories...did it have to be that particular treasure?

"Twenty five." She said, loud enough to state her bid, though her eyes never left the old man in the wheelchair. She watched as he tugged at the nurse's sleeve, nodding his head for her to continue.

"Twenty five I am bid. Oh, thirty from you sir. Can we go as high as thirty five?" the man pressed, glancing between the two bidding for this seemingly worthless ornament.

She looked at him, his old, worn eyes boring into her own. He would have known what it meant to her, and yet he still wished to claim it as his own. Though in a moment, she looked at him, really looked at him. He was an old man, frail and resigned to a chair. She remembered him long ago, young and youthful, the same blue eyes that she knew from back then. Eyes that held a debt. Suddenly, she as overcome with sorrow, more at herself for wanting to be so greedy. She offered him a small smile and shook her head, bowing out of the bid with finality.

"Selling at thirty francs, then. Thirty once...twice..." 

She sighed to herself and turned away just as the sound of the gavel filled the room. None of the other items interested her at all, so she knew she had best be on her way. Though something within herself stopped her, and she turned once more, just in time to see the porter handing the music box to the elderly man with great care. It was a slight comfort to know that the new owner cared for it just as much as she.

"Lot 666 then. A chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera; a mystery never fully explained."

The woman smirked to herself. The story was indeed legend. However, as was often the case with legends, the story that people believed, was not necessarily the story that actually occurred. The truth remained that nobody knew the tale of the Phantom of the Opera, not the whole story. The tale of course, happened before she was born. A time before fallen chandeliers and haunted halls and long before anyone had ever heard of Christine Daae.

Everyone in Paris knew the tale, or at least they believed they did. But the events that took place before, what caused such a tale to occur, happened many years before...


	2. By Any Other Name

_1845_

To an audience, the Opera house was but a grand stage where they can spend an evening enjoying the rich talent that Paris has to offer. But what they were unaware of was that beyond a mere stage, it was a labyrinth of passages, trap doors and hiding places.

For those that lived and worked in the Opera Populaire, there were numerous hidden ways in which they could manoeuvre themselves around the premises without even a shadow being cast. Costumers could easily be by their Diva's side should her dress be stood upon; artists can move from one side of the stage to the other to adjust the fallen scenery, and the stage hands can be on hand high above the audience's heads to ensure that the performance runs smoothly from curtain to final bow.

That, of course, did not include the number of hidden locations where any one of these hard working folk could take the time to sit and watch the performance completely out of sight, without anyone knowing they were even there. This was common, particularly among the young stage hands, who when they were not needed, gathered in the high alcoves of the roof to have a drink and watch the young Ballet corps practice of an afternoon, or the performance during the evening's opera.

For one particular stage hand, it had taken him a week's worth of cigarette wages to convince a friend to cover his shift while he watched the performance from high in the roof. A smile on his face as he watched the corps flutter across the stage; young girls that have spent their lives dreaming of this chance to glide across the famed stage in front of an adoring audience. They were graceful, impeccably taught with such determination and precision, appearing as though they were far beyond their years. And of course, they were beautiful.

Though Luc only had eyes for one.

Performing centre stage, dressed so elegantly in white, was their Prima Ballerina. Tall, lean and blonde, this statuesque creature was the pride of the Populaire Ballet Corps, their leading lady that they had been grooming since she was but a small girl. The girls both envied and adored her, the men fawned over her.

And although he still at times could not believe it, he was the one that was able to call her his wife.

As he gazed lovingly down at his young bride, the fact that he had been able to call her such for the past year now still astounding him, he was filled with immense pride. She worked hard, was strict with herself, and had made it thus far. In his eyes, she would be the greatest dancer the Opera Populaire would ever know, and he strongly believed that, long before he ever mustered up the courage to speak to her.

The music swelled and he got to his feet, knowing that should he wish to beat the crowd, he would have to leave now and sneak his way outside to wait for her. Her adoring fans would seek her out that was for certain. Offers to join them for dinner or drinks in celebration after would be chorused, but she would politely decline, choosing instead to accompany him home to their small and modest flat down the street from the opera house.

Luc made his way down to the street, bypassing the dissipating crowd that was vacating the theatre. Away from the main entrance, heading out into the street was a side door that the corps and performers used at the end of each evening to head home. He stood, shifting his weight on his feet as he waited; a bouquet of sweet daisies in his hand as one by one, the young performers made their exit.

Before too long, his face broke out into a smile as a familiar beauty stepped outside. Her eyes searched around expectantly until she finally landed her gaze on him. A beautiful smile broke out on her lips as his bride made her way over to him.

"A triumph, as always, mon ange." He beamed with pride, bowing slightly as he offered her the small bouquet. A light tinge of pink hit her cheeks as she gratefully accepted the flowers with a smile.

"They're lovely, but you shouldn't have." She admonished lightly, though her heart was only partially in it. Luc could only grin in response. They were hardly much; his wife deserved roses and diamonds and every other beautiful thing that in his opinion, paled in comparison to her. But with his salary, they were but dreams. Though they never went without, and Antoinette adored the gesture more than anything.

"I am here to escort you, Madame Giry, to your humble abode. Where, for the evening, your loving husband shall wait upon you til your heart's content. Foot massage, a warm bath perhaps?" He offered, taking her arm and turning down the street. Antoinette let out a small laugh and shook her head as she held him close, nuzzling against his side as they headed off down the darkened path.

"A night at home with my husband?" She wondered with a smile.

"Anything your heart desires, my love." He promised, leaning in to press his lips softly against her temple. The young couple made their way past the crowds, huddled together and blocking out the rest of the world. To the pair, it was just the two of them.

It was a short walk down the cobbled streets towards the home that they had made for themselves; a small one room space, perfect for the newlyweds who spend most of their days and nights at the Opera house. Of course, they had dreams for something bigger one day, and perhaps in the future it would happen for them. But Luc's pay could barely afford it, and Antoinette was focused on her career to want much more, so it suited them just fine.

They crossed the street; the street ahead delving into darkness and the sound of their feet on the pavement was the only thing heard for miles. Paris at night was beautiful, but it was nice to get away from the hustle of the city and away from the Opera house, if only just for a few hours. A crack of thunder sounded above and before too long, rain had begun to fall. Not at all dressed for the weather, Antoinette huddled under her husband's coat as they quickly carried on their journey, wanting to get out of the rain before it got too bad. Neither of them had the time to catch a cold.

A sudden cry stopped them in their tracks, almost inaudible against the sound of the rain. The young couple looked at each other, unsure of whether they had heard something or if it was just a figment of their imaginations, an echo from the storm. But soon it sounded again; a harsh whimpering cry coming from the steps of a building up ahead.

Luc stepped forward, though his wife pulled him back. They had no idea what it was, and she wasn't in the right mind for her husband to foolishly go and investigate when he had no means to protect himself. But he patted her hand reassuringly and pulled himself from her grasp, making his way toward the steps to find the source of the cries.

Antoinette stood there on her own in the rain, watching his retreating back as he stepped forward. After a moment, he stopped still suddenly, and moved to bed down to pick something up. Finally, he hurried over, not knowing what had gained her husband's attention. She stopped however, when she grew closer and noticed the small, squirming bundle that was whimpering in Luc's arms. Peering over his shoulder, Antoinette was shocked to see a small baby, wrapped in a dirty worn out blanket, crying softly. A small tuft of wispy red hair atop its head.

"The poor thing can't be more than a day old." Luc said quietly, gazing down at the small child in his arms. He started rocking it gently, trying to soothe it's cries. "There's no sign of a mother or anyone. It's all alone."

"It could be sick. We need to get home." Antoinette said, glancing down the street, their home already in sight despite the darkness. Luc turned to her, honestly surprised by her lack of compassion in this moment.

"Mon Ange, it could die. We cannot leave it out here." He whispered aghast. The child's whimpering had softened, though not stopped completely. It was clear that it was cold, hungry and undoubtedly frightened. It was unlikely that the poor dear wouldn't last the night. "Could you have that on your conscience?"

Antoinette looked at him, feeling it rather unfair that he would ask such a thing. Of course she wouldn't, but this child barely had a chance as it was. Perhaps it would be a mercy to leave it with God? Nobody but them would know.

"Oh, look at her. Look at those eyes."

Her? The crying had ceased somewhat and was replaced by a soft coo of sorts. Antoinette looked over her husband's shoulder and was met with a pair of green eyes looking up at her curiously. Bright, wide eyes that knew nothing of the world; two green orbs gazing up at her. Eyes that had apparently already managed to get her husband under their spell.

"Nettie, the least we can do is take her in and make her comfortable. Perhaps she will not survive the night, but we cannot leave her here." Luc told her, a hint of desperation in his voice. There was flicker of something over his face before he smiled softly. "It would not be the first time you opened your home to a stray."

Antoinette looked at him in shock. There was no comparison there, how could he think there was?

"That was different. I did not open my home. I do not take care of him." She reminded her husband, though there was something in her voice. Luc merely looked at her knowingly, though decided against the argument. Now was not the time and he didn't particularly want an aggravated wife, despite knowing he was right. His gaze softened, almost pleadingly. The small child nestled in his arms, taking advantage of the safety it provided her, though not entirely sure for how long that may be.

If she only gave him tonight, to see if there was something that could be done. Tomorrow, if the child survives, they will figure out the proper course of action; find somewhere safe for her, a new home, just as long as she gave him that night.

Finally, after what seemed like an age of him silently pleading with her, Antoinette sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"She is your responsibility. You take care of her for the night and then figure out a course of action." She told him pointedly. She didn't mean to sound so cold, but she could not have something like this jeopardize her career in the ballet. Not after she had worked so hard for it, and her husband knew that. Of course they planned for a family someday, but not now. They were both still so young, she was only seventeen and he not even nineteen as of yet, and they had only been married a short time. No good would come of a baby.

"But Luc, you cannot get attached."

Luc smiled and leaned in to press his lips to hers lightly; it was a promise and an agreement, as well as thanking her kind heart for agreeing. Carefully, he shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around the shivering bundle in his arms. With his free hand, he rested his arm at the small of his wife's back as they continued on their journey home.

Perhaps God would be forgiving and take the child before it could suffer any more and their lives would go on as normal.

oOoOoOoOoOo

There were times behind the scenes at the Populaire, where tensions were high and people were in bad form. Stress and laboured days, matched with a low income could strip workers of their humour and their will to work. In cases like these, however, there was usually a tiny spark that flitted around the backstage that could put a smile on even the strictest of characters.

Rose, or Rosie as she was affectionately known throughout by those at the Opera House, was such a spark. The small but bright young girl with red hair had a habit of bounding through the opera house and bringing nothing less than a curl of the lip to those who seemed to need it the most. There had been times where she had been told repeatedly that she must know her place and stay out of the way nobody really had the heart to reprimand her too harshly. One look in those big green eyes and many forgot why they were put out in the first place.

To Antoinette Giry, she needed to be disciplined; gallivanting around as such was no way for a little girl to behave, particularly in a place of work and distinction such as the Opera House. But despite this, she was her father's absolute pride and joy.

Luc had taken to fatherhood instantly, since the moment they brought that little girl into their apartment. By some miracle, she had survived the night. When Antoinette woke up the next morning, she found her husband on the sofa with the child cuddled against his chest, both fast asleep. She knew from that moment that despite her wishes, the child didn't seem to be going anywhere.

He had named her Rose, after the gorgeous deep red hair that she seemed to have despite her young age, and her rosy cheeks that he had woken up to the following morning. After some discussion with his wife, they had decided to give her his mother's maiden name of Devereux

He had kept his promise to his wife, spending the days when she was rehearsing to care for the young girl, making her well and building her strength up, all the while continuing his work as a stagehand. Every day he would bathe her, feed her and change her, then take her with him to work and convince one of the seamstresses to watch her while he managed the more dangerous tasks.

Despite the distance kept by the woman who was helping raise her, Rose was loved. While they hadn't planned on being parents for quite some time, their opportunity was seized, particularly by Luc, who lavished attention on his little girl with pride and love that only a father can give.

When Rose reached her first birthday, the crew had a small celebration in the wings, a toast among the adults and the laughter and joy of watching the small infant happily help herself to a small cream cake, much to her squealing delight.

As she grew, her involvement in the workings of the Opera house did too. She would often sit on her father s lap, high up above the stage and watch the performances, cheering her mother on as she took centre stage with the rest of the ballet. While other little girls were being looked after by governesses and being taught how to act in proper society, Rose was learning how to fix rigging and exactly how many pulls of a rope it took to lower the scenery sheets, and sneaking into the orchestra pit and listening to the beautiful music they played.

At age three, Rosie wanted to be a ballerina.

She would spend the time she wasn't working with her father or one of their friends, watching the stage in awe as the ballet corps danced ever so gracefully across the stage. Her mother told her than when she turned seven, if she practiced hard, she could train to be a ballerina, just like her. Every evening like clockwork, in their small living room, she would practice. Hours would pass and soon her father would come home late from work and find his little ballerina to be, fast asleep on the floor in her shoes. He would hang them up over the bed and put his little one to sleep, only for it to repeat the next evening.

By age six, Rose knew the ins and outs of the Opera House as well as any adult employee, perhaps even better. She knew the quickest path from the costume room to the stage, how many ropes held up the scenery and which one to undo and when, and she knew the best alcove seating to watch a performance. Fir six years old, she was far beyond her years in intelligence, and her curiosity often outweighed that significantly.

But there were still some things that she had yet to find an answer to. Who was the person that her mother and father were referring to as 'always listening'? Where did that beautiful music come from when the orchestra had gone home and the stage was dark? Why did she get the feeling that someone was watching her, but when she turned around, there was nothing but her own shadow?

She knew there was someone watching her, they had been for years. Though, whenever she turned to catch them, they were gone. The only glimpse she could ever catch was a flash of white. When she was younger, she asked her parents about it. Her mother's face went pale and she turned her attention elsewhere. Her father, though faltering slightly, told her that the Opera house was very old, and was often capable of tricking someone into thinking there were things hiding in the shadows.

Though she was young, Rose was no fool, but she didn't question her parents on it again. But soon, her curious nature got the better of her. While she knew there were places that her parents would tell her not to go, that did not mean that they weren't there. There were hidden secrets within the walls of the opera house, and Rosie made it her mission to discover them and solve the mysteries that plagued her young mind.

Though she had her parents and the friends who lived and worked in the opera house, a never ending parade of people and familiar faces coming through those doors every day, Rose felt lonely at times. There was nobody there her age, and though she was intelligent for her age, there was nobody to sit and talk to for more than a few spare moments at a time. She wasn't unhappy, but she knew she had come into this from another life. This was all she knew, and part of her often wondered if there would be someone there for her to talk to.

Then, there was him.

He was always there, the shadow within the shadows. Rose didn't know who it was, but it was a he. But who was he? Surely not a stagehand she knew them all like family and they would not be so secretive around her. A dancer? No, they were too frightened of the dark. Whoever it was, they had a great love of the music and performances, evident by the amount of times that Rose had found him watching from the shadows. But just as quick as she did, he was gone. He left no footprint, nor sign that he was there, other than a small flash if she was quick enough to look. It was almost as though he were a ghost, though Rose despised the thought. Not for fear of ghosts, but that the fact that this was clearly a person who knew his way around the opera house well.

But then again, so did she.

oOoOoOoOoOo

While she knew the best view of the stage was above, Rose soon discovered that the best way to hear the music was down below. It took her no time at all to figure out a way under the stage, stumbling upon it when she had been watching the ballet corps rehearsing. It was dark and dank, and the feel of cold stone was all around. Glancing around, Rose soon discovered that she had landed directly below the stage. The swell of the music seemed louder, radiating off the stone walls in a beautiful echo that made it sound far richer than even in the orchestra pit itself.

It soon became her new favourite place. When the orchestra was rehearsing, she would slip away from whoever had been 'watching her', something she did so often so nobody bat an eye these days. Rose would sit herself down with a blanket upon the ground and simply listen to the music dance its way through the air. She could not play an instrument, nor could she sing as well as the Diva, but she loved the music all the same.

It soon became apparent to her that she was not alone in liking this particular spot. She didn't have to look to know that it was him; staying his place in the shadows, not saying a word. Rose had to wonder at times if he was even breathing. Sometimes he would leave quickly upon knowing she was there, others he would stay and the two would listen to the music in silence before the soft sounds of footsteps told her of his departure back to wherever it was he came from.

This happened almost every day, the same routine between the two and yet not a single word was spoken. It was strange, but Rose had come to enjoy her visits with this mystery figure. Eventually, her curiosity peaked once more and before he disappeared one afternoon, she asked him a question.

"...What's your name?"

Every day she asked, and she was met with a resounding silence, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. But she was no disheartened. Every day, he would come back once again, quelling her fear that he would cease to appear one day, leaving her alone once more.

On this particular day, Rose had been the first to arrive. Her father had been busy all morning up in the rigging and her mother was tutoring the younger corps for the day. The orchestra were preparing a new piece for the evening and she was eager to hear how it had been coming along.

Before too long, there was a change in the air, and Rose knew that she was no longer alone. She didn't turn around to glance in his direction, she simply sat with her head against the wall and her eyes closed, listening to the music.

"You've been watching me." She said finally, breaking the silence. She had no idea who this person was, if he was dangerous or anything at all. Her parents would more than likely think her mad for talking to him. But they had shared a companionable silence for months now, even longer. And despite no words being spoken, Rose felt safe.

"...Yes." he said finally.

Rose opened her eyes, not bothering to hide her slight surprise that he had answered. He sounded younger than she had thought, like some of the newer hands that her father was training. She shifted slightly, turning her attention to the shadows.

"You can come out and talk to me." She told him innocently. "You know that I won't bite."

There was silence for a while before she received another response.

"No, I cannot." He replied. Rose wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Did he not want to talk? If that was the case, why was he here talking to her now? It confused her, but at the age of six, almost seven, she wasn't without things that did.

The two stayed in silence for a while longer, falling into the usual routine. There was a pause in the music, and Rose knew that meant the orchestra were preparing the next suite. It took her a moment to realize that he was still there, hidden away out of sight as per usual.

"How come you never say hello?" She wondered, pulling her small legs up to rest her chin on her knees.

"Because I have no need to" the shadow replied. Rose's brow quirked in slight confusion as she turned to face him or at least the direction his voice was coming from.

"You would rather stay in the shadows?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He seemed to be considering her question for a long while. The light rap of the conductor's baton against his stand signalled that the orchestra were ready to take up their instruments once more. It was a slower piece, more sorrowful than light hearted as its predecessors had been.

"...The shadows are safe." The voice said finally, pulling Rose out of her melody induced day dream. The shadows are safe. She had been warned her whole life thus far that that was not the case; the shadows were dark and dangerous, and you could be lost within them forever if you strayed from the light. But there was something about what he said, and the conviction in which he had told her that resonated with the small child. Rose merely smiled and nodded softly, pleased with his answer.

"Are you ever going to let me see you?" She asked quietly.

"No."

"Why?" She asked again. She could lose track so easily of just how many times the word had been uttered from her lips in childish curiosity. A small sound escaped his throat, and if she didn't know any better, Rose could have sworn it was somewhat close to a sound of amusement, though not quite a laugh.

"Because you do not want to see me." He replied, and she could practically hear the slight curl of his lip in his voice. Her brow still raised, Rose crossed her arms across her chest like an act of defiance.

"Would I have asked if I didn't want to see you?" She questioned. He made a sound of frustration and purposefully avoided her question.

"Are you always this annoying?" He asked. A small but bright smile filled her face as she nodded her head proudly.

"Yes."

The shadow sighed once more, though there was an air of finality this time. Once more, Rose could hear the sound of shoes on stone, telling her that their tine together had come to an end once more.

"What's your name?" she asked to his retreating form.

Once more, she was met with nothing but silence in the darkness.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Childhood curiosity was often something that should be embraced. The world was large with many things to discover beyond the steps of your front door. A child's mind is open to such wonders, seeing the world with fresh eyes and no tarnished opinions of everything around them.

But curiosity can bring danger if not handled with care. Icarus was curious and too sure of himself, and flew too close to the sun. Curiosity was what had done in the proverbial cat, and unleased demons on unsuspecting folk that can put an end to childhood innocence.

Curiosity also was the temptress that eventually brought Rose face to face with her first taste of fear.

There had been an issue with the set design; one of the ropes had been strung too loosely and there was no chance that the performers could take to the stage without it falling and inevitably causing some damage to staff or set. Almost every hand was called upon to fix the problem as quickly as they could. This meant that Rose was left with little to no supervision, something she didn't mind in the slightest.

No supervision meant that Rose was free to make her way around the grounds and explore. There was always something new to discover, and she was almost sure she had yet to even scratch the surface. How did He get around everywhere? Surely there was much more to the Opera grounds than people assumed.

She made her way around her usual route backstage, weaving through seamstress tables and the crates where some of the younger hands decided to store their alcohol until their breaks. Slipping between frameworks from old deconstructed sets, Rose reached out and ran her hand along the length of the wall, feeling her way around. Eventually, she found a gap between the partitions. Smiling to herself, she wedged her hand into the gap and moved it around until the second partition shifted enough for her to squeeze inside.

The entry had led her into a tunnel like space, completely stone and rather damp. Rose had to wonder just where this particular path would take anyone, apparently leading its way further into the depths of the opera house. Keeping her hand on the wall, she followed the dimly lit path, trying to side step the puddles at her feet.

It seemed to go on forever, and Rose soon couldn't remember just how long she had been following the path. There were no twists or turns, or any indication that she was making any progress in getting anywhere at all. Exactly how far was she from where she began? Would anyone be wondering where she was?

A faint dripping sound could be heard in the distance, perhaps the reason for all the water on the ground at her feet. Rose followed the sound, trying to see if it was getting closer or whether it was just her imagination.

Soon, she could feel the floor give out from under her feet before she had a chance to realise what was happening. A strangled scream left her throat as fear ran through her entire body. Her eyes clenched shut as she waited for the fall and presumably death to follow. But as swift as the fall had come, Rose felt a rough had wrap around her arm, pulling her harshly out of the hall and pulled back against the wall with a thud. A sharp pain hit her head as she collided with the wet stone. Rose didn't dare open her eyes but she could sense someone lean in close to her in the darkness.

"You'll do well to not wander, mademoiselle. Next time you might not be so lucky."

That voice. It was him. He had pulled her out of the way of falling.

He released her arm as a throbbing pain shot from his tight grip. Rose was so struck with fear that she couldn't open her eyes or move. She barely registered being picked up and carried away. Before she realized it, she had been set on the ground once more, this time on familiar wood.

Opening her eyes hesitantly, she was in the orchestra pit. How on earth had she managed to get there? And where was her friend? The six year old barely had a chance to think about this before a voice rang out that the scenery was fixed and that rehearsal would carry on as planned.

Glancing around behind her, Rose rubbed at her arm, not noticing the slight red mark that had started to form. As quickly as her shaking legs would take her, she headed into the audience to sit quietly on her own.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The red mark on her arm faded by the next day, almost invisible, much to Rose's relief. She was thankful that her mother or father didn't notice it, or they would have asked questions. But if she was honest, Rose wouldn't have know what she would have said.

Her visits under the stage had been on her own for the past few days since what happened. She wanted to know why he wasn't coming to her. Did he think she was mad? That he had hurt her or cared her? Rose only wanted to thank her friend for saving her. Truth be told, she missed knowing that he was there, despite never really seeing him.

After promising her father that she would be back after the orchestra's rehearsal, Rose made her way down into the pit and snuck down to the stone passage. She had expected there to be nobody there and though she wasn't entirely wrong, there was something waiting for her.

There, nestled on her blanket where she usually sat, was a ragdoll. It was not like any she had seen in the store windows she had passed with her mother. They were immaculately made, with nary a stitch out of place. This was a little haphazard. The stitches were not messy, but noticeable, and it was made from scraps of various materials.

The doll had two mismatched buttons for eyes and red hair made from woven yarn. She was the most beautiful doll Rose had ever seen. She smiled happily and lifted the doll into her arms with great care. She ran her fingers over its hair gently and hugged it close to her.

But how on earth did she get there. As she ran her hand over the odd fabric, Rose noticed that there was a small paper tag attached to the doll's wrist. Written on the tag in beautiful elegant script, were but four words.

 _My name is Erik._


	3. The Face in the Mask

1851

There were some days where Erik was certain that a permanent scowl graced his lips. He wouldn't know, never looking in a mirror, but he could feel it. And the source for his particular scowl was currently flitting about in a corner of his domain.

He didn't like people. That was a rather gentle way of putting it. He despised people. People were cruel and caused pain to everything they touched, and what they didn't understand they shunned and attempted to destroy. Children, though new to the world and yet to learn of all its horrors, are still people; and they inevitably grow to follow the same path as those before them. They could laugh and taunt just as well as a grown person, sometimes more. They were all the same. There could be no beauty in people. There was rarely beauty in the world at all

Music, however, was the exception that he craved. Music was complex and filled with passion and desire, sorrow and hurt, and could fill a person with more joy and love that no person or thing could otherwise provide. Though it could hurt, it did so with meaning, and at the instruction of its composer. That was something that Erik could respect. So he surrounded himself with music of his own creation, having no need for the outside world. And he was content with that.

So, if that was the case...why was he allowing himself the company of one such child?

In his defence, he didn't go out searching for her. In fact, he had initially come about her existence rather accidentally. He remembered it well; talk around the Opera house that the Girys had stumbled upon a lost child close to death, and had taken her in, expecting her to not survive through the night.

How eerily familiar.

But the child survived, and as it were, grew up rather quickly within the confines of the Opera house, much as he did. Though really, their stories were hardly similar...

oOoOoOoOoOo

Many years ago...

He was barely ten when he first joined the travelling fair; a horrid life that he would not wish upon even his greatest enemy. Thousands of people would come and throw money to catch a glimpse of any of the oddities and so called freaks that the show had to offer. They had a sick obsession with it, perhaps it made them feel better about their own dull lives. How grand it must have been to be 'normal'. He was their star attraction, the one they flocked to see. 'Le Mort Vivant', the living dead. There were days where he wished he had been.

He was fifteen years old when Antoinette had found him; bruised, beaten and humiliated. He had seen her in the crowd; standing in front of his caged prison, dressed in white without a hint of amusement on her face. There was something else in its place, there was pity. After he had had his fill of it all, he let his rage consume him and kill the fiend that had kept him prisoner, strangling him with the whip that had been used to beat his hide raw day by day.

But she had come back, and to this day, Erik till had yet to figure out why. Was it pity? Compassion? No, those were things that were never spared onto him. He was not worthy of them. Antoinette snuck him out and given him solace within the bowels of the Opera house in which she lived. She gave him food and water and clothes, along with the promise that she would not reveal to him to anyone so long as he stayed inside. Of course, Erik agreed.

It was his first experience with anything that had resembled kindness.

Erik found shelter in a small abandoned space that had once been a store room for all manner of old props before the Opera house's heyday. It was small and rather cramped for more than one person, but in comparison to his cage at the fair, it was a comfort. It was dry, it was quiet and it was away from the rest of the inhabitants of the Opera Populaire. He and Antoinette had little interaction other than her providing what scraps of food she could manage to sneak away, not that he minded at all. He enjoyed the solace that the dark gave him, and took comfort in the music that he could hear drifting down from above on stage.

Despite his lack of exterior beauty, Erik was incredibly gifted in other areas. He was a craftsman, spending time crafting small trinkets and furnishings; he was a magician and a designer. But most of all, Erik was a composer. He heard music in his head and wrote it down to create the most beautiful and haunting notes that nobody would ever hear.

When he wasn't in his room crafting small trinkets out of old prop pieces, Erik spent his days working his way through the depths of the building; discovering hidden pathways that could get him to and from certain areas of the Opera house without being heard.

For almost two years, this was more enough for him. But eventually, he got restless and while he held disdain for the outside world, Erik felt a longing to live as others do, in his own space that was more than a cupboard. More than that, he longed to be closer to the music. Every day he could hear the beautiful tones drift down through the floorboards, muffled by the stone above. It was then that Erik decided he needed more. So he set to work in expanding his space the best he could, though he lacked the tools to make any proper construction with his own two hands.

It was then that Antoinette offered a revision of their agreement. There was someone she knew, a friend who worked within the opera house that could give him the use of proper tools that he could use to build whatever he needed. She gave him her word that this friend would never speak a word about his existence to anyone.

Erik found Luc Giry a strange man. When told that there was a deformed monster living beneath the opera house, all because one of their dancers snuck him in there, he simply accepted it. There was no admonishing Antoinette for bringing him there, nor was there wanting to hunt him out and kill him, or reveal him. Luc simply agreed to it and asked whether or not Erik would prefer him to deliver the tools or would he like them left for him to gather on his own.

This was his second experience with human kindness.

After almost a year of working on his own day by day; tools provided by Luc and fresh food and hydration by Antoinette, Erik made his first appearance to him. He kept to the shadows, not wanting the kind boy who had helped him to see his wretched face and recant his offer to help. But Luc barely said a word on the subject. He smiled kindly and offered his hand, which Erik admittedly flinched and recoiled slightly. But after a moment, he reached out and shook his hand, though still hesitant.

While Antoinette danced, working her way to the top of the Ballet Corps, Luc took any opportunity he could to help Erik. He provided tools and materials and offered suggestions to assist Erik in building a home for himself. Not once did he think it strange that all of this was occurring. He simply felt that this boy, only a few years younger than himself, had not been dealt a single kindness in life until now. Why should that continue when he could do what was right?

But Erik had once again become restless. His days building and creating, while a useful way to pass the time, were not enough to quench his spirits and make proper use of the talents he had been given. It was then that Erik decided to hire his talents out in contracting. Using Luc as a middleman, and becoming only known by a last name he had fashioned for himself, he created an identity as rather well to do but elusive architect and contractor. Within no time at all, he had established a considerable client base, and through word of mouth, had fashioned work for a great deal of Paris.

Around this time, Monsieur Lefèvre, the newly appointed owner of the Opera Populaire, decided that the grand building needed to undergo a little refurbishment and began scouting around the city for contractors who were willing to take on the task. Names came in yet none were able to match the grandiose plan that the man had for his business.

At least, that was until a certain stage hand suggested a name. A man named Destler, his brilliance spoke volumes in the rather detailed plans that he had sent to the manager. Lefèvre was astounded and wanted to meet with the genius right away. The only catch was, according to Luc Giry, that he would not be able to oversee the project in person, having become somewhat of a recluse, and would take the job if their mutual acquaintance could relay communication back and forth between them. Wanting to secure the job any way he could, Lefèvre agreed, having no clue that the reclusive genius was living beneath his opera house.

Erik had thought it a rather brilliant plan, if he thought so himself. He had come to love the building he had long since taken refuge in, and while the idiots running it left something to be desired, he could not see his home fall into the hands of a fool who knew nothing of its worth. And, with the job secured as his, while he dictated the refurbishments, his plans allowed him to make significant changes and advancements to his own developments below the surface.

The longer he spent living within the walls of the Opera house, the longer Erik wished to see it thrive. He cared little for the ticket sales or the ballet, despite owing a debt to the new Prima Ballerina, but the music, the art it conveyed, that is what held his interest. And the more he thought about that, the more Erik wanted to see it with his own two eyes.

Late at night, hours after rehearsal and long since the last candle was extinguished, Erik made his way above ground. Construction had all but been completed, and though rehearsals had been worked around it, they had resumed on the stage once more. He often did this, in the dark of night when every soul was home or in their dormitories. Erik took great pride in what he had put into his Opera house, even though he would never be credited with it.

Erik made his way along the rigging, preferring an overlooking view of the auditorium to take it all in. Though it was dark, he noticed a flicker of a candle behind the curtain near the stored scenery. That was strange. It was past midnight, and there was nobody that would have the need to be out this late at night. Unless some fool had left a candle burning, in which case all his heard work could quite literally go up in flames. Silently slipping into the shadows, Erik went down to get a closer look.

As he grew closer, he could make out a noise, gradually becoming louder. Heavy panting breaths and low cries, though muffled. It seemed that one of the young dancers and her beau thought it a good idea to take advantage of what they assumed to be a dark and empty auditorium. The blonde in question was pressed up against the curtained wall; her dress haphazardly unbuttoned at the bust as her lover lavished attention against her neck and chest. His hand was hidden deep beneath her bunched up dress hems at her waist, her hand gripping his hair tightly as both pairs of eyes remained closed in the apparent throes of passion.

A clanging sound from above caused the young dancer's eyes to fly open as she glanced around, clearly quite taken back by the sudden sound.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, trying to pry her lover from her body. He didn't reply, far too focused on his current actions to pay any attention to an apparent noise. The blonde didn't look convinced, yet turned her attention back to the matter at hand. It wasn't until the ropes holding the scenery beside them came loose, causing the large canvas to fall and extinguish their candle. The pair sprung apart, grabbing at their clothes as they looked around.

"What was that?" The boy asked, looking around, using a false sense of bravado to mask his fears. But there was nobody there.

"Perhaps the rigging just came loose?" she suggested dumbly. The boy, a young stagehand himself, didn't look entirely convinced, though he really had an alternative reason for the mishap. He nodded as he glanced around once more, unable to see her face grew pale as she glanced up at the ceiling. Her breath caught as she pointed a shaking hand to the rafters, spotting a human face in the shadows, surrounded by a flash of black. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again.

"I-it's a ghost!" she cried, scrambling for her clothes and taking his hand as they rushed from the auditorium. Erik watched in the shadows, surprised by the outcome of his little stunt. A small smirk taking over his features.

It took no time at all for word to get around of the ghost that had appeared in the auditorium the night before. The poor girl was so struck with fear that she could not give a reasonable excuse for her being in the auditorium so late to see such a spectre. Though Lefèvre and those in charge did their best to assure them that there was no such ghost, the corps de ballet were shocked and frightened to the core. As time passed, more and more young girls claimed to see the spirit, or the Opera Ghost as they had come to call him, though few ever really did.

While most in his circumstances would see this as a rather large problem, Erik was not immediately fretting. He had to admit that some of the recounts, especially from those who hadn't actually seen him were quite amusing. He had been seen as everything from a pale apparition to a skeleton in gentleman's clothing. There was also talk that he was missing his whole face, which was quite an exaggeration, considering he made it high priority that he would not show any part of his face.

Soon, the Opera Ghost, sometimes referred to as The Phantom of the Opera, had become rather renowned throughout the Opera Populaire and its inhabitants. Whether you had seen him personally or not, his presence was ever felt and his demands, expressed in notated form and given to the management often by Antoinette or Luc, were dealt with swiftly unless they heed the consequences.

It soon occurred to Erik that he could likely use this to his advantage. With the construction almost complete and his own hideaway's building drawing to a close, it seemed as though Erik had found away to have a larger say in the running of his opera house. Though he made sure to use his newfound power sparingly and only with just cause, it soon became a rather useful upper hand to have.

Erik had been at the opera almost five years by the time his underground home was completed. As it happened, the foundation beneath the opera house was rather sturdy, and given his allowances to design his own plans including the Opera house itself, he had managed to create a large rather extensive home for himself below the surface, surrounded by a large expanse of water disconnecting himself from the inner workings of passages and pathways that had been created beneath and within the opera house.

He furnished his home with artefacts and items he had collected over the years; some from the stores within the opera house from past productions, others he had accumulated though anonymous dealings with the outside world. The jobs that he procured thanks to his contracting dealings had, in hardly no time at all, made Erik an incredibly wealthy man.

It was with this wealth that Erik purchased the tools he would require to create the most beautiful instrument that he could; a large, hand crafted organ and he centrepiece of his home and his life. He spent months on its creation, pouring blood, sweat and tears into it until it was crafted to his intricate perfection. It was now that his music could be heard outside of his mind, and finally be given the chance to make his art more than scratching on parchment.

One of the first favours that Erik collected with his newfound wealth was the business of a nearby craft smith that often contributed to some of the costuming for the Operas productions. The man though old in age, had incredibly skilled hands, and was quite adept in the field of masquerade. Erik's commission was simple; something that would hide the 'birth defect' that he had been cursed with. The crafts man asked no questions, and accepted his payment before getting to work.

When he was done, Erik had been gifted with an assortment of masks to hide his wretched disfigurement. Though their purpose was grim, they were well crafted and perhaps, in another circumstance, could be quite beautiful. Masks made of leather and papier-mache, even one of the more traditional masks made of glass. But the one that Erik seemed to favour above all, was the white porcelain half mask. Though it initially hurt, spending hours resting on his blemished and raw skin, he adapted and adjusted to the discomfort, as he did with every aspect of pain in his life.

It would take no time at all for their styles to be replicated should he ever need more, but for now, they would serve their purpose.

It was painfully ironic in a way, that a rather large quantity of antique and ornate mirrors were found beneath the opera house in its stores. They were beautiful, and would have been thought even more so if it weren't for their reflective surface. Erik's first thought was to have them destroyed; they were of little use to him, he avoided looking at his own reflection at all costs. But he soon thought better of it, they were too lovely to be rid of. Some acted as a rather generous donation to the opera house, being placed within the rooms of both the Prima Donna and the Prima Ballerina. Others were fashioned into something useful for him; doorways within his passages around the depths of his home. Some had their mirrored reflections removed and replaced as doors fitted with two way glass. And some remained in his home, adorning the walls of his domain, though each reflective surface was covered completely, out of sight.

As the days seemed to move on and those in the Opera house above moved on with their lives, Erik became more regressed and isolated in himself. His methods of ensuring that his privacy was kept, using all manner of self made traps and tricks, it soon became dangerous for Luc and Antoinette to journey down into his underground labyrinth. Antoinette had been hesitant to make the journey at all, preferring her correspondence to occur above ground through being a messenger between Erik and Lefèvre. Luc, on the other hand was another matter entirely. Though he knew and understood of Erik's desire to be alone, it didn't sit entirely well with him, despite the younger man growing further and further apart from them.

Erik spent his days composing what he was sure would be his life's greatest achievement; a yet unnamed composition that he threw his blood, sweat and tears into. His time was spent creating music that no other soul would ever hear, and silently making his way through the realms of the opera house undetected, to ensure the running of the property was constantly at the highest level of competence.

And as it often did, things changed. Luc and Antoinette soon married in a little ceremony in the church by the opera house, an event that Erik was invited but declined to attend. They soon moved out of the opera house to their own little flat and soon their association with Erik was through the passing of notes alone. Soon, it seemed some days that the disfigured man they knew was nothing more than the ghost story he had willed himself to become.

When he had learned of the child, Erik had to admit that he was slightly interested, though he hadn't the faintest idea why. When the child had been old enough to walk and talk, she found her ability to make her way around the opera house whenever she pleased, apparently capturing the hearts of most, if not all who worked there. Erik failed to understand what was so intriguing about the small human that seemed to cause everyone to lose their wits. But he couldn't deny that some part of him was curious. That was how he found himself hiding in the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious creature; this tiny red headed sprite who seemed to not have a care in the world.

He had almost been caught more than once. When he thought he was being careful, he would misstep and the child would turn around, eyes searching for the sources of the sound but fortunately finding nothing. There were times when he was careful as he could, barely breathing and she would still get the feeling of being watched. Apparently this little thing was far more intelligent than Erik had originally given her credit for, even if she was only a child.

Erik soon found himself watching over the child more and more. She had developed a sense of adventure and an inability to sit still from an early age and often took it upon herself to explore every inch of the opera house she could. This, as Erik soon realized, meant possible danger.

On more than one occasion, he discovered that by coming above ground and remaining in the shadows he had inevitably found himself in 'the right place at the right time'. He had lost track of how many times he had somehow prevented her from getting hurt over the years. He didn't care at all, he reminded himself of that often. Yet he found that he couldn't stand aside and leave well enough alone.

Erik had made a mistake by getting too close to the girl. He was quite aware that he didn't need to watch over her, even though that wasn't at all what he was doing; it was pure coincidence that she had also discovered the best places in the opera house to listen to rehearsals. But he didn't stop visiting once he knew she was aware of his existence.

The child was no fool, it took him no time at all to discover that little fact. He supposed that he was rather impressed with the skills that she had shown during her short life at the opera house. She was clearly more intelligent than most he encountered in the building.

Erik remained silent, never answering her questions or verbally acknowledging that he was there at all, no matter how she pestered him about it. Verbal communication only brought interaction and confirmed his existence to her, and he couldn't have that.

But then she had almost died.

Erik knew that he shouldn't have cared at all. He supposed that she would have got what was coming to her, sneaking around in places that hardly concerned her. What was a six year old doing roaming around in dark passageways on her own? She was only lucky that he had been on his way returning to his home and managed to see her before she slipped. Had he not been watching, the girl would have plummeted below in an instant, never to be heard of again.

Perhaps he had been harsh with her, a little too rough. She was alive, that was what counted, wasn't it. He felt no pity for mankind, so why was the thought of seeing the terror in her eyes playing over and over in his mind?

Though he made no effort to return to the particular passage under the orchestra, Erik knew he would find her gift. She had every right to be frightened of him, but hopefully would find his peace offering. He had no idea what possessed him to actually reveal his name to the child; perhaps it was guilt? He had harmed her, so he owed her that much.

It had taken him the whole night to find spare rags of material to fashion the toy for her. It was by no means an attractive doll, and he honestly wouldn't blame her if she saw fit to dispose of it due to its hideousness... it would be something they had in common.

But she didn't.

Word travelled fast and it took him no time at all to realize that the doll soon became a permanent fixture in her life. She took it with her everywhere, the thing barely left her side. Erik found that he felt a certain amount of pride in that fact. Perhaps she didn't hate him after all?

It seemed as though her little taste of fear had done nothing to diminish the child's adventurous spirit, nor her interest in him. Erik tried harder to make each of his traps more efficient, but the child became more and more adept at making her way past them each and every time and soon, Erik found himself giving up the fight. He would sit at his organ, composing or writing a letter to the foolish management, and would know when she decided to come see him. In time, he had come to expect her daily visits, and soon Erik found himself caring less and less as time went by.

As she grew, Erik found that he could hold a rather civilized conversation with the girl – or Rose, as he had now been able to call her. She was thoroughly inquisitive, asking him about everything and anything she could. Erik had feared, early on as she spent more and more time with him, that she would question his mask. He hadn't the faintest idea what he would do if she did, but he tried to prepare himself when the moment inevitably came. But it never did. If she asked once, which was likely, she seemed satisfied with his answer and the subject was never approached again. She never questioned it, or tried to see what was hidden under it. For whatever reason that completely eluded him, the child trusted him.

Though he would never admit it, he found that he didn't entirely hate having her company, despite finding her and the lack of peace and solitude the bane of his existence at times.

oOoOoOoOoOo

This brought him back to such a moment, where he was determined to focus on his work, yet was finding it rather difficult due to the seven year old who was currently pirouetting from one end of his workspace to the other. How on earth was he expected to compose when he was constantly being distracted; looking up every few moments to ensure that he didn't have to pull the child from the lake.

"Must you keep spinning around like that?" he asked dryly, not lifting his eyes from the sheet music spread out atop his organ. Resting beside it, sitting up in a seated position, was the ragdoll he had made her.

"If you truly thought I was annoying, you would have gotten rid of me ages ago."

"Not for lack of trying." He murmured to himself.

"Mama says I have to practice." She told him with a childish smile, still spinning around and attempting to keep her balance on the points of her toes.

"I hardly believe she meant doing so down here." he replied, barely resisting a roll of the eyes. "I also know for a fact that if your parents knew you are down here, they wouldn't care for it very much."

"They haven't stopped me yet." She reasoned, stilling for a moment, needing to allow her head to stop spinning. "Besides, they're busy preparing for the baby."

It was with great sorrow that Antoinette Giry, the beloved Prima Ballerina of the Opera Populaire, had decided to step down from her position, due to the fact that she was now with child. Her final performance was something that the people of Paris would talk about for years. Such grace and talent, she had plenty of time left for the stage, but decided to give it up to expand her family. Not wanting his star to venture too far from the opera house, Monsieur Lefèvre offered her the position of Ballet mistress for the time being, and the offer that the position become permanent should she wish it at the end of her pregnancy.

"Ah yes. The impending arrival of little Giry." He murmured, his quill still scratching notes onto parchment. Why he included himself in childish conversations at times with her, he still did not quite understand. For someone who craved the solitude in the darkness, he was never so eager to push her away these days.

Rose stopped spinning for a moment, stilling her feet on the floor and appeared deep in thought. After a moment, she wandered over to the organ crossed her arms to rest on top of the instrument.

"The girls say that when the baby is born, Mama and Papa will forget me." She said her voice unusually quiet and sullen. Erik's hand stilled hesitantly, having never heard such worry in the young child's voice. Trust the spoiled, young ballet brats to be so cruel to one of their peers such she. He sighed and put his things down, shifting slightly in his seat to look at her. Her eyes were downcast to the organ, her attention focused elsewhere.

"Your parents will not forget you." He assured her, somewhat hesitantly. He was out of his depth with matters such as these. He never had a father, and his mother tossed him aside as though he were nothing. He was not socially or mentally equipped to answer any questions she would have, or assure her of things he knew nothing about.

"But I'm not really theirs." She replied, just as quietly as she rested her head in the crook of her elbow.

Erik looked at her in mild surprise. It was no secret that she was aware of her parentage. She had come to her parents one day and questioned why her hair was different; not rusted chestnut like her father's, or silken gold as her mother's. So Luc sat her on his knee gently and explained the night they found her, and while she did not come from them, that didn't make her any less their daughter.

And while he didn't know much on the subject of love, Erik knew how much Rose was cared for. While Antoinette attempted to distance herself from the child, as far as even reprimanding the child when she referred to her as 'mama' while at work, she still had her father. There was no possible way that anyone could love another as much as Luc adored his daughter, biological or not.

"Mon amie, come here." He told her, his voice quiet but commanding. Rose looked up, hesitant for a moment before he shifted and pulled herself up onto the seat beside him. She looked up at him with big green eyes, unsure.

"Where you come from does not determine who you are. It is the person that you choose to become that defines who you will be in this life." He told her. "Who are you?"

"I'm Rose." She replied, her small face creasing in confusion at the apparently ridiculous question. Despite himself, Erik chuckled lightly at her confusion and shook his head with a smirk.

"Yes, you are. But you are much more than that, little one." He assured her. "You are fearless, and you are kind. You are the daughter of two parents who love you, soon to be an older sister. And you are set to becoming the next Prima Ballerina, are you not?"

His words seemed foreign, unusually light and optimistic to be coming from the likes of him. And while Erik did not believe anything of what he said in regards to himself, he believed it about her. Rose took a moment to consider this; a small but sure smile growing on her lips as she looked up at him.

"Do you really believe I'll be the next Prima Ballerina, Erik?" she asked hopefully, the spark in her eyes hardly going unnoticed by him.

"With all the practice you have been doing, how can you not?" he proposed in reply. The thought made the younger girl grin and nod her head in thanks before she slipped off the seat and returned her attention back to her practice, filled with a newfound hope thanks to her masked friend. Erik watched her as she seemingly went back to her usual self, as though her bout of self doubt had ceased to exist. Shaking his head, Erik went back to his composition, but soon found himself giving up once more as he started to play a soft melody on the organ for her to dance to.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Marguerite Marie Giry was born late one evening in the spring. Meg, as she had been lovingly dubbed by her parents, was a small but sweet child with bright eyes and the beginnings of her mother's fair skin and blonde hair.

With the new addition to the family and that Rose was now living and training with the other girls in the dormitories, her small room at the family flat was converted into a nursery for little Meg, who became the doting recipient of her mother's newfound maternal love.

The little one was but a week old when she made her first appearance in the opera house. Much as they had with her elder sister, those in their makeshift rag-tag family oohed and ahhed over the new bundle of joy. Antoinette held her new daughter with every air and grace of an ex-ballerina; a smile on her lips as he thanked the well-wishers almost smugly, and a look of pride upon her face as she happily showed off this wondrous creation that she had made. Something, Erik had noticed even from the shadows, that she had not done with her eldest daughter.

Luc was as proud as the day they first brought Rose to the Opera house. No longer was he a father to one, but now two beautiful little girls who, if you asked him, were the reason that the sun rose each and every morning. While Antoinette showed off the newborn, his eldest, still the light in his eyes as by his side, now far too big to be carried in her father's arms, but still standing proudly with his hand in hers, every part of their little family unit.

One evening, after spending time with her family at home and her parents had gone for a quiet stroll around the block after supper, Rose was standing in her little sister's room while she slept, watching the infant with a quiet fondness.

"Was I ever really that small?" she asked the apparently empty room, not lifting her head but her question directed to the shadows by the door. Erik said nothing for a moment, merely wondering how on earth she could tell he was in the room without even glancing up.

"Yes, you were." He informed her, stepping out of the shadows into the dimly lit room. He moved silently to stand by Rose's side, peering down into the crib. "Though you were not as quiet as she is."

"So nothing's changed then?" The young girl asked with a wry smile as she glanced up at him. Erik hummed quietly in response, taking a moment to look down at the sleeping child as she shifted slightly, her hands moving in response to whatever visions she was seeing behind closed eyes.

He was still adamant that he did not care for children. What reason would he have to care about children? It did not help his case however that the person he felt the closest, even minute connection with was in fact a seven year old child, nor the fact that he was currently standing in a nursery looking down at another sleeping infant with said child. He would never speak of it out loud, but in that moment Erik felt a strong pull towards the two Giry children. It had happened with Rose, the day she almost fell, and it was happening with little Meg right now. He had no right to have contact with either one of them, and yet here he was.

"Are you going to make her a doll too?" Rose questioned, snapping the young man out of his thoughts. He looked up at her a moment, his mind recalibrating to the current situation before shaking his head in reply.

"No, that doll was for you and you alone." He told her, an almost fond tone in his voice. "But I did however, make her a small gift."

Erik moved from her side, disappearing into the shadows by the door once again before fetching something and returning to the crib. In the flickering lantern light, he held up a small delicate hanging mobile. Dangling from fine silk strings were small hand crafted ornamental stars, attached to a crescent moon at the centre.

"It's beautiful." Rose whispered in awe, smiling up at the creation as Erik attached it above the baby's cradle.

"And look." Erik prompted, reaching up and turning a small key at the base of the moon. After a moment, a soft soothing lullaby filled the room, and in no time at all, little Meg had fallen into a still slumber once more.

"Oh, Erik it's lovely. Did you write that?"

"I thought since you listen to my music every day, your little sister should be extended the same kindness." He reasoned, as though it were nothing at all; though very few people were willingly allowed to listen to his music such as this. Rose smiled up at him before turning her attention once more to her little sister, now sleeping soundly.

It was in that moment that Erik made a conscious vow to himself. No matter what happened, how many years passed or anything at all, he would make sure that no harm would come to these two little girls in his care, so long as he lived.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When Rose wasn't in rehearsal or practices, or when she wasn't spending time with Erik, she made it her mission to spend as much time as she could with her father. It was her favourite thing to do, her earliest memories of that which involved him taking her to work in the Opera house, as far back as she could remember.

She was sitting up in the rigging, her legs dangling from the rafters while she waited for her father to finish with one last job before they broke for a quick spot of lunch together. As she gazed out at the theatre below, Rose's mind seemed to be working harder than usual.

"Papa?"

"Yes, my darling?" he replied, not glancing up from the job at hand. It was not uncommon for them to have several conversations while working. Rose paused, deciding to chose her next words rather carefully.

"How did he come to live here?" she asked. She had no need to turn around to know that her father had stilled his hands and turned his full attention to his daughter.

Luc was silent, stunned by the frankness of her question. It was no secret between him and his wife that their eldest daughter had somehow befriended their acquaintance beneath the opera house, and often frequented his home on a daily basis. Though Luc was surprised that his seven year old was able to not only engage with Erik, but somehow manage to convince him that her company was not a hindrance. Despite the distance that had come between them and their young friend, Luc often thought about the boy, wondering if there was more that he could have done back then that would have helped him somehow. But Erik was a force on his own. He craved the solitude away from the light of day and others around him. However, it did in fact seem that his armour was not as tough as he wished others to believe. Or perhaps it was just one particular ray of light that he was willing to allow to break through the darkness.

The man sighed and moved to sit down beside his daughter, pulling her into his arms so she was resting in his lap and wrapped his arms around her. Rose leaned back into his arms and played absently with the thin leather rope that was wrapped around his wrist.

"He has not had an easy live, my sweet. While you and your sister have been fortunate to have so many around you who love and care for you, our young friend was not so lucky." He explained. "He was just a little older than you when he met your mother."

"Mama?"

"Yes, your mother. She showed him a kindness and he came to live here at the opera house. We helped him the best we could, and he's been here ever since." Luc told her. "I'm certainly surprised that he has taken a liking to you, my little one."

"He says that I'm annoying, but I don't think he means it. He doesn't tell me to leave...and I like spending time with him. I think he's lonely." Rose said with a soft smile. Luc looked at her daughter with a soft fondness and held her a little tighter.

"When it is all you have known in your life, it's very easy to think a certain way. But you, you're such a sweet girl so full of light. You see goodness in people even if it is hard to find. If anyone can be his light in the darkness, it is you." Luc smiled, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You need to watch over him, Rosie. Can you do that?"

Rose smiled as her beloved father held her tightly and returned the hug, nodding. "Yes Papa."

"Do you see down there? The gas lantern to the side?" He asked, pointing down to the stage where lantern stand stood tucked away to the side.

"Mmhm." She nodded.

"That there is the Ghost Light. Every night when the theatre is dark, we leave that one light on all night, right there in the middle of the stage." He explained to her. "Most believe it's so we do not hurt ourselves in the darkness. But others say that it is used to help guide the ghosts that live within the theatre."

"You mean like the opera ghost?" she asked, a small knowing smile on her lips. Luc merely chuckled and shook his head, tickling her side a little.

"Perhaps. But the light is guiding them. That's what you are, my little one. You're a light in the darkness. Never lose that, promise me?"

"I promise Papa."

Satisfied with her response, Luc pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. How had he been so lucky to have such n incredible little girl as a daughter? He had his wife, his angel, and two little girls. He was truly blessed.

Down below on the stage, Antoinette was returning from her class teaching the older group of girls. Hearing the sound of childish laughter above, she lifted her gaze to see Luc and Rose high in the rigging, smiles on their faces as they enjoyed a father-daughter moment. She pursed her lips in a tight thin line as she continued along her way.


	4. Fate Makes Fools of Us All

_1857_

Fate was a tricky and often cruel mistress. It was a common belief that those will have done unto them as they have done unto others, and that the good shall lead a happy life. It was soon realized, in the most painful of ways, that this was rarely ever the case.

If that were true, that the good will survive, then how could it be that someone who had done nothing but good their whole life, who loved more honestly than another soul on the earth, could be snatched away in the blink of an eye? How could it be that someone is there one day, and the next they have vanished?

They were calling it a 'freak accident'. Those in the company were still unsure about the circumstances, and it was still unclear as to whether or not it could have been avoided. But none of that mattered anymore.

He had been up in the rigging, something he had done as often as breathing. It was his skill, his mastered work that he took pride in every day. He had been adjusting the staging for the evening's rehearsal. It was a simple task, one that would be finished quickly before he would break for lunch, but as thoroughly as he did every inch of his work.

Nobody had anticipated the loose rope that wasn't where it should have been. Nor did anyone anticipate that such a skilled stage hand would lose his footing, and that the young apprentice who was supposed to be in his post to spot him, was too busy trying to sneak his way into the girls dormitories.

He fell without anything to cling to. It happened fast, they were told. He was gone before he hit the ground. He never had the chance to feel any pain.

It was his cries that alerted the others that something had gone terribly wrong. Others had arrived just to see him land on the stage, never to move again. When asked what had happened, the young foolish boy who had been supposed to be there merely stated that he wasn't at his post. He was not fired, but demoted, as though that had the power to bring him back from the dead.

Rose had been out for a walk collecting an order for the costumers, blissfully unaware that her entire world was about to come crashing down. She had to hold herself from rushing back, the bolts of fabric nestled under her arm as her fingers played absently with the chain around her neck; a gift from her father on her thirteenth birthday months earlier. A silver pendant engraved with the sun and the moon lay between her fingertips.

" _To remind you that there is both light and darkness in the world. One is not good, while one evil and neither can survive without the other."_ He had told her with a smile. Since the moment he had placed it around her neck, she hadn't taken it off.

Upon her return to the Populaire, there was a silence. Everyone around her seemed to look at her with such pity, that she did not understand it. It wasn't until she was summoned to Leferve's office that she had learned of what had happened. The person she loved most of all, the centre of her entire world, was gone forever. She had only seen and spoken to her father that morning, mere hours before he had gone up into the rigging.

Antoinette had been distraught, screaming and breaking down so completely that she had to be sedated. Little Meg didn't, only six years of age, could barely register what was going on other than the fact that for whatever reason, her Papa wasn't coming home.

And Rose?

She ran. Faster than her dancer's legs had ever taken her before. She didn't know where she was going, nor what she would do when she arrived. She only knew that she had to get away. Tears were blurring her vision as she ran past the masses of mourning staff all over the Opera house. Some tried to stop her, others decided to let her grieve any way she knew how. One thing was for certain, life at the Populaire already seemed les bright without one of their most beloved of faces.

She didn't stop until her feet finally gave way and she fell onto cold stone. Somehow without realizing it, she had she had found herself under the stage. She gasped at the sudden impact when she hit the floor, her emotions finally catching up for her as the tears fell from her eyes, burning her cheeks like a flame. As she struggled to pull herself up, Rose let out a broken, anguished cry, her head falling into her hands as all the pain and darkness she was feeling began to consume her.

Her father was dead. He was never coming back, and that was partially because of someone's foolish mistake. A mistake he would not pay for in the eyes of those in charge. That fact hurt her deeply, but there was something that caused her more pain than anything else. She did not get to say good bye to her father. Nobody was given that chance. Her mother didn't, and was now left a widow to raise two children on her own; her little sister, who was only just developing a tight bond with their father. His brothers and sisters in the company, Erik...none of them had a chance to say goodbye to someone they loved.

In an instant, her tears of sorrow seemed to quickly change as a blinding rage seemed to fill her tiny form, buried deep within her burning core and threatening to spill out in any way it could. Blinded by pain and fury, Rose pulled herself to her feet and hurled herself full force against the wall. She thrashed against the solid stone, arms and legs kicking and punching as a means of trying to make herself feel even the slightest inch of relief.

She wanted to hurt. She wanted to scream and to feel the pain. It was almost as if she held some belief that all of this would miraculously bring her father back to her and that things would be okay. She felt as though her heart had shattered into a million pieces and they were cutting her to shreds from the inside.

She could have been doing it for mere moments, or hours, she didn't know. She couldn't feel anything anymore, not even the pain shooting through her wrists. It wasn't until she was forcibly pulled away from the wall and pulled into a pair of strong arms that she even realized anything was happening.

Erik pulled her away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her shoulders while the other tried to sill the punches she was still throwing in mid air. Rose was small, but it was evident that she had the strength to do some damage if he was not careful. He hushed her, pulling her close as she finally had a grip on her arms. Feeling someone beside her, Rose's attacks were slowly starting to lessen until finally she broke down against him, finally worn out.

It was no secret that Erik did not do well with human contact. However since the young redhead came bounding into his life, quite literally, he had come to terms that he must make allowances – most of the time against his will and better judgement. As she wrapped her arms around him in despair, his body stiffened slightly, if only out of instinct. But he didn't push her away, which surprised him more than anything. Instead, he pulled the crying child closer to him and backed slowly against the wall, sinking down to the floor.

Neither of them could tell how much time had passed as they sat there; Erik staring blankly into space, processing what had happened while the young girl sobbed in his still somewhat reluctant embrace. Finally, her cries softened until eventually they ceased all together, and Rose felt as though she was incapable of crying ever again. Instead, she felt hollow, like there was nothing left for her to give.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." She murmured finally, breaking the silence. "He was my father...my world, and I didn't get to say goodbye to him." Her voice was quiet, almost inaudible, and Erik was certain he never thought he could ever hear such softness leave her lips. The usually bright and energized thirteen year old was nowhere to be found, in her place was nothing but a shell, someone who had had everything they had ever known snatched so cruelly away from them.

"I know you didn't. I am sorry, mon amie." Erik murmured, trying to disguise the fact that his voice was cracking. When he had heard the news; the cries and the hysteria from up above drifting down to his domain, he had found himself part of his own episode. When he left his home to journey upwards in search of her, he had left barely a dozen mirrors intact in his wake.

Rose sighed as she lifted her head from his chest. She sniffed, reaching up to wipe her eyes and brush her hair away that had fallen over her face. Erik's eyes widened slightly as he reached for her hand, pulling it closer. It seemed that in her fit of rage against the unrelenting stone walls, Rose had done a significant amount of damage to her hand. The skin was bruised, broken in some places thanks to the coarse stone, and was bleeding onto her dress. She had been so consumed that she hadn't even noticed.

"Come." He murmured, getting to his feet and pulling her along with him, reminding himself to be gentle and to treat her with care in her fragile state. Rose said nothing as she followed him in an almost obedient haze. Her moment before had taken a lot out of her, and right now it was a miracle she was able to walk and stand on her own two feet.

The pair was silent as they made their way down underground. Erik made no move to get her to talk, simply knowing that it was best for Rose to move at her own pace. He just ensured that his grip on her did not waver as he guided her down to his home. Upon their arrival, he sat her down at his organ and went to fetch what little medical supplies he had.

For someone who was told she felt far too much, Rose was exceedingly numb. Her head was heavy, her face streaked with the marks of tears, though she found herself incapable of crying anymore. Was this how it was going to be always? Would she always feel this gaping hole in her being as though someone had simply reached in and pulled out her heart and walked away?

Luc Giry had so much life to live. He loved his job, it was his life. His family was his entire world his childhood sweetheart, their daughters – the youngest of which was but six years old. He was the greatest person that Rose had ever met, and would ever meet. He did not harm a soul but encouraged love and light in a world of pain and darkness, though he was never afraid of the dark. There was so much he had left to do, and now he would never get the chance.

He was only 31 years old.

Rose barely registered the fact that Erik had returned until she felt him take her hand in his. Snapping out of her daze, she looked down at her bruised and bleeding hands as Erik knelt in front of her. He cleaned them and dressed them in clean strips of fabric.

"Even you have to admit this was a rather foolish thing to do." He told her. While his told was light, there was a hint of admonishment lying beneath the surface. Rose didn't look up, her gaze resting on her tiny hands completely covered by his own.

"It seems that's all I seem to do these days." She murmured quietly, her throat hoarse from her cries. She felt barely present, like she was drifting through a series of motions, unsure of what to do or say or think, or even feel. "I didn't even realize what I was doing. It just felt good to hit something."

"You are not violent, Rose. It is not in your nature and I think it unwise for you pursue it more than necessary." Erik responded.

He tightened the last knot on the dressings and released her hand gently. Rose was only now starting to feel the ache in her knuckles, and knew she would feel it for quite some time by the looks of things. But it was nothing more than a tickle compared to the ache in her heart. She ran her hand lightly over the fabric wrapped around her hand, flinching only slightly when her touch grazed the open wound. Wordlessly, Erik got up from the floor and took his seat beside her on the bench.

"They're saying that one of the hands wasn't at his post. Nobody was watching him." She told him quietly, not looking up to meet his gaze. Erik stiffened at this new information. It was known above that any work in the rigging had to be at least a two-man job; even if it was simple, one man would always act as a second pair of eyes. He had hoped he was wrong, but by the sounds of it, the death of an innocent man could have been easily avoided by someone's thoughtless actions.

"Who?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even and not give away any hint of his anger. The young girl shrugged, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

"One of the new boys." She said softly, trying to think of the name she heard in passing. "Bouquet I think? He hasn't been here that long."

Erik remained silent, though he found that his hands were clenched quite tightly. He did, however, try to hide this fact from Rose. She was dealing with enough right now, and surely did not need any added problems from the likes of him.

In himself, Erik was feeling as though the universe was dealing another harsh blow to those who did not deserve it. By taking Luc Giry away, he was not only taking away a good man, but someone who had unselfishly helped him from early age. He shows him unparalleled kindness, even more so than Antoinette and anyone else he had ever met, save for possibly his daughter. With that said, the moment that Erik had heard of what had happened, his thoughts went immediately went to the young redhead by his side. No cause for worried about his own reaction, or that of the company, but the young thirteen year old and her family, who would undoubtedly never be the same again.

And so the two sat in silence; the fact that they were not alone providing a small amount of comfort for one another, as the severity of the day's actions finally fell upon them.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Rose hated black. She loved the calm that darkness brought, and she longed for the quiet of night, but as a general rule, she hated the colour black. Black was dark and cold, it was the colour of morning. And painfully accurate, black was the colour of death.

Her father wouldn't have liked this. He wouldn't have wanted his loved ones dressed in the darkest shades of black, standing around his grave in tears. Luc Giry lived for colour and light and joy, all the things that made the world beautiful. If he had been alive, there wasn't a single doubt in Rose's mind that he would be striving to make each and every one of them laugh, or at least smile. He had the uncanny ability to make even the strictest of people laugh. It was his god given talent. He was the source of all the light in the world, leaving the sun far behind.

But that was just the thing...he wasn't alive, and they were dressed in black.

Everyone from the Opera had turned out for the funeral service. The stage hands, the costumers, even corps and performers. Monsieur Lefèvre made it known that he would offer whatever he could to the family. A collection of people who were known for dressing in bright fashions, aiming to make the world smile with their art, looked so sullen and broken at the loss of one of their most cherished and beloved brothers.

The Girys were by no means wealthy in any sense; Luc and Antonette's jobs were more out of love for the craft than for making a grand living. But Luc had been a cherished staple in their small community, and everyone banded together to give him a send off that he deserved; fit for a king among men.

That's what he was to them, and that was how his memory deserved to remain.

Antoinette had used up most of her strength to get out of bed that morning. While she had been strict and pragmatic in her ways even following her husband's death, behind closed doors, if one would look past the hardened exterior, they would see a fragile woman who had just lost the love of her life. She was standing still and almost rigid, dressed in a black gown with a veil obstructing her face. If she were to cry, she would not let anyone see it occur. Her hand was securely clasping that of her young daughter, standing dutifully by her side.

Little Meg. Sweet beautiful Meg with her perfect blonde curls falling neatly down her back. It had taken her a little while to come to terms with the fact that her father was gone. She had been her mother's pride and joy, but that did not deter from the loving relationship she had with her father. She was sad, of course, but it was more cause for lamenting the future that she had now been denied with the only man in her life.

Rose felt out of place. This was her father's funeral and yet it was the last place on earth she wanted to be. She was dressed in a modest black dress; her red hair braided and pinned, in the way her father would sometimes do for her before she went to bed of an evening. This didn't feel right, though she was forced to remind herself of the likeliness that nothing would ever feel right again. Somehow, she had to find a way to make peace with that fact. In the days since, she had been walking around like the undead. She had been unable to feel or think anything other than numbness. How could she, when her source of light, her entire world, had disappeared as quickly as the lanterns were extinguished at the end of each day.

The air was thick as she, her mother and her sister walked behind the carriage that held her father's coffin. Rose kept her eyes focused on the ground, knowing that if she could place one foot in front of the other and keep going then she was off to a good start. It didn't feel right, that this was for all intents and purposes, the last walk she would ever take with her father.

The service was simple, yet heartfelt. The priest spoke of Luc as he would have liked to have been remembered; a kind man who loved his work, loved his friends and above all, loved his family with every inch of his being. That though his body was no longer here, his spirit would live on without the lives of those he loved, and that God had a larger plan for him that he could not finish on Earth.

Standing there, listening to the sermon, Rose couldn't help questioning the apparent existence of this all mighty higher power. Her parents weren't instinctively religious, but there were others at the company who were, though it seemed that superstition outranked religion in the hallowed halls of the Populaire. While there were some things she knew she should be thankful for, namely how lucky she had been to live the life she had, there were many things about the entire concept that just did not sit right with her.

How could someone who was so mighty and just, deliver such hardships on those who did not deserve it? Her mind instinctively went to Erik. How could a good God curse such a man with the loneliness and heartache that he had been living with? How could he take away the one good thing in her life so unfairly? No, God was not just, he was cruel if he existed at all. So while the priest spoke of her father's soul, Rose knew that he had no close of what he was speaking of. Her father's soul, may he be at peace, would more than likely stay in the halls of the opera house than ascend to heaven as it had been apparently foretold.

The service soon came to an end, and all that was left to do was lower the casket into the ground. Rose wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see that, and it seemed as though most of those in attendance felt the same. People approached the small family, offering their condolences and telling the three women that they were in their prayers. Antoinette kept a polite facade, as she thanked each and every one of them as they passed to take their leave. She was the picture of a widow and mother who was keeping it together for the sake of her children.

Rose watched silently as those she knew passed to head back to their homes. The Populaire had called a day of mourning and had closed its doors out of respect for the family and for Luc. It seemed as though to the young girl, that that was all there was too it and soon her father would be in the ground and life would go on for all those who were left behind.

She turned silently to the coffin, not sure what had possessed her to do so. Perhaps the thought of it being the last chance she had to be near her father in a physical sense, or perhaps another reason all together. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something that she knew for certain had not been there before. Amongst the sea of black, laying atop the coffin, was a single red rose.

She knew instantly where that had come from, and the very thought that Erik had gone above ground and purposefully ventured out from the Populaire, simply to show his respect sent a flourish of warmth through her otherwise numb body. She looked around for any sight of him, though she knew better than to expect him to leave a trace, or risk the chance to be seen at all. But the fact that he was there, well, that in itself made Rose smile for the first time in days.

"Madame, please allow me to offer you my deepest condolences for you and your daughters." Monsieur Lefèvre said, bowing his head politely as he approached the family. Antoinette offered him a small smile in return and nodded head in thanks.

"Thank you kindly, Monsieur. You have been more than generous enough for us." She replied, her voice hoarse, yet unwavering.

"Believe me when I say that if there is anything else that myself or my staff can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask." He told her honestly. She nodded her head once more in thanks. Taking his cue to leave, Lefèvre nodded once more, then once each to the girls before making his way out of the cemetery.

The three Giry women remained at the gravesite a little longer, simply staring at the casket unwilling to take that first step away from the man that they loved, knowing it would be the last. Finally, the sky began to darken and the wind grew cold, and Antoinette Giry turned with the two girls and headed back to the awaiting carriage.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It would seem that fate had a few more aces up her sleeve, as it were. One such trick occurred not too long after Luc's burial. Without the second income, it seemed as though Antoinette and her daughters could no longer keep their family home. It broke the woman's heart to be forced to leave the apartment that she had bought with her husband, and the home in which they had raised their children and planned to spend the rest of their day growing old together. But it seemed as though it was not in their plan, and soon Antoinette found herself being called upon once more to Monsieur Lefèvre's office.

It was fortunate for the family to have ties to the company, as it seemed to work in their favour. Aside from Luc an Antoinette, Rose had greatly impressed her teachers, and was well on the way to becoming the dancer she had dreamed her whole life of being, perhaps even the Prima ballerina after her mother. Lefèvre's offer was still on the table, and although it pained her for assistance, Antoinette knew she needed help.

So when she was summoned to the manager's office, she was presented with a choice; there would be a room for her at the opera house. It wasn't much, but it was a roof over her head. Meg was almost at the age where she could start training with the corps, so she could move into the dormitories with her sister. What was most important about the offer, was that the family could stay there free of charge, so long as they all found the need to.

Although she was astounded by the offer, and knew how badly she was in need of a solution, Antoinette was reluctant to agree to this ridiculous gesture of kindness from her employer. When she started to protest, Lefèvre put his hand up to politely silence her. All he asked for in return, was the continuation of their work within the Opera Populaire. She would continue to teach and run the ballet department, while Rose kept studying and working hard, and should she have time, continue the small jobs she had been doing since she could learn to walk. It was clear that the young redhead had developed quite a place within the halls of the opera house, one that did not go unnoticed by the man in charge. Not knowing what else to say, Antoinette agreed.

It wasn't long before the three had moved permanently into the opera house. They had packed up the small flat at the end of the street, bundling belongings and precious memories into boxes and taking them with them. Antoinette had her own private space, living on her own again for the first time since she was a small child. Photos from their family home displayed on her walls, and Meg's mobile was wrapped and safely stored away in her closet.

Meg moved into the ballet dormitories with her sister, temporarily sharing the bed until some of the elder girls left the corps in a few months time. Hard as they may have tried, it wasn't easy to adjust to life without Luc. Antoinette did her best to keep her personal destruction and her professional life from intertwining, while Meg, small and somewhat shy in her new surroundings, adjusted to life as a ballerina in training.

Rose found it hardest of all to slip back into life at the opera house. Normally when she felt ill at ease, her father would be there with a soothing word or a hug to chase the nightmares away. She no longer had that guiding presence in her life, and it left a large gaping hole that she wasn't quite sure she could ever fill.

At night when she couldn't sleep, and did not want to burden Erik with her childish nonsense, she would creep out of bed and sit on the stage in the darkened auditorium, gazing at the ghost light in silence. Her father's words playing in her head;how the glow both lights and protects the theatre and all those in it, acting as a balance between the light and the dark. In the time since her father's passing, and when she would spend her nights watching the lamp, Rose swore that the flame in the lantern flickered a little brighter than it used to. As she sat there, warmed by its glow, her hand clutching the pendant around her neck, Rose felt comforted in a way that if ever asked, she would never truly be able to explain.

"...Rosie?" a shy, timid voice asked, breaking the silence in the room. Rose turned around and even in the darkness, could make out the small silhouette of her sister hiding behind the curtain. Clutched tight in her hands was Rose's ragdoll, who often was a beacon of comfort for the youngest Giry.

"Meg, what are you doing out of bed?" she asked calmly. The little blonde girl looked ashamed as she stepped back behind the curtain, not yet as gifted in seeing in the dark as her sister.

"I woke up and you weren't there." She replied. Rose's face eased as she managed a soft smile, holding her arms out expectantly. The young ballerina fled from the curtain and rushed across the stage silently, into her sister's awaiting arms. Rose smiled and held her close, pulling her to sit down comfortably in her lap.

"You're going to be in trouble with Mama if she knew you were out here." Meg said quietly with a small smile. Rose looked down at her sister, her young pale skin shining even in the solitary light. She smiled and winked at her. She didn't want to say that it was likely that her mother did know she was out of bed, and certainly didn't want to say that it was more than likely that she didn't care. Though she knew that if there was a problem with it, there was very little that could do to keep her in bed.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." She assured the six year old, hugging her close. "You, on the other hand, need to get some sleep, not running around the opera house in the dark."

"I don't like it when I'm alone." Meg replied, nestling up against her sister. Despite being in a dormitory filled with a dozen other girls, Meg was still the youngest and didn't do well without a familiar face. "...I miss Papa."

The sadness in her voice, and how soft she was speaking almost tore another hole in Rose's heart. She had been blessed with thirteen years of memories with her father, but Meg was not so fortunate. She hugged the little girl closer, willing herself to keep her own tears at bay.

"I know you do, believe me so do I." She assured her sister. "But he wouldn't want us to be sad. He's going to be watching over us always."

"Like an angel." Mag supplied, a small smile on her lips at the thought of her father becoming their own guardian with wings.

"Exactly, like an angel. And you've got this." Rose smiled, picking up the young girls hand and running her finger over the leather cord she had wound around her wrist. "Papa rarely took this off, and I think he'd be happy that you've kept it and are wearing it close like he did."

"It's like he's always with me." The blonde nodded, leaning back into her sister's embrace. "Could you sing his lullaby?"

"Meg, you know I can't sing." Rose reminded her with a quirk of her lips.

"Neither could Papa." Her sister retorted. Rose had to admit, she had a point. Both her and her father couldn't sing at all, though she had been told her voice was sweet, nothing compared to the talent within these hallowed halls. But her father wrote this song one night when they couldn't sleep, and it always soothed them.

"And then we go to bed, hmm?" Rose reasoned. The blonde in her lap nodded as she nestled closer, her eyes slipping shut slowly.

' _Lay by my side as we sail away, off to the shores of another day. All set to go as I hear you say, Goodnight my friend...'_

oOoOoOoOoOo

Life at the Opera Populaire went on as usual. However, behind closed doors, the staff of those who ran the Populaire was finding it rather difficult to adjust to the large hole in their company. Employees left; they moved on to other jobs, marriage or retirement, but none of them had died on the grounds, and none so tragically as Luc Giry. The loss was still evident in the small community, one that seemed to be taking a toll on everyone. Jobs that were usually undertaken by Luc were divided between staff, though they almost cruel to step into another man's shoes. They all knew that there wouldn't be another like Luc.

In the weeks and months following the tragedy, there had been more disturbances from the Opera Ghost. Notes were received with critiques and demands about the running of the opera, as well as calls for when his monthly salary was due. Many a company member had claimed to see a ghostly figure wandering amongst the shadows late at night, and sometimes during the day. Though none of them could quite confirm what they saw, they were adamant that there had been someone there, watching them. It wasn't long before a sense of fear was struck through the company. The Phantom of the Opera, whether a person or not, was real and he was there.

Erik had since acquired his own permanent residence in Box Five, albeit forcibly, and Lefèvre agreed to the request. Managed by Antoinette, it was the Opera Ghost and he alone that could occupy, and Erik used the opportunity to sit in on performances, and the occasional rehearsal. Who was to say that he could not keep an eye on the Ballet Corps, namely the two Giry daughters while making his speculations?

In the months following her father's death, Rose threw herself into her dancing. Her mother was strict on rehearsal schedules and she followed it with severe dedication. While the other ballet girls were gossiping or treating themselves during time off, Rose was on stage or in the rehearsal space, going over her steps and perfecting whatever movement she could. When she did allow herself a break, she could be found curled up in one of the auditorium seats, or an unused prop backstage, with a book in her hand, completely oblivious to the outside world around her.

People soon learned that it was rather difficult to grab the attention of the young dancer in these situations. She had soon become known for her incredible focus, both on and off the stage. Everything continued on around her until Rose decided to return to the real world.

One such afternoon found her lounging on one of the larger props, her legs draped over the side as she immersed herself in worlds that differed greatly from her own. Many of the stagehands had gone for their breaks, before returning later in the afternoon to finish their work before the show the following night.

"I'm surprised you're not on stage."

Rose looked up, startled out of her daydream and looked around her, trying to locate the source of the sudden interruption. Eventually, her gaze landed on a boy, probably two or so years older than she. He was standing up on the rigging, the curtain ropes clutched tightly in his hand as he glanced down at her.

"...Excuse me?" She asked, thoroughly confused. She'd never seen this boy in her life, why on earth would he be making observations about her like that? He seemed to shrug at her response, adjusting his grip before he turned his attention back to her.

"Well, it seems every time I see you, you're dancing." He pointed out with another light shrug. "Either that or you've got your nose stuck in a book."

Rose glanced down and clutched her book closer to her before shifting her position so she was sitting straight. He had some nerve about all of this, though she found herself somewhat intrigued.

"Are you admitting to watching me?" she wondered, quirking an eyebrow as she glanced up at this strange boy. He didn't seem fazed by her accusation in the slightest. Though his grip on the rope seemed to tighten, he leaned forward against the railing to look don at her.

"No, just an observation is all."

"Do you often make observations aloud to people you don't know?"

"Only the pretty ones." He smirked, having the gall to send her a wink and a crooked smile. Rose couldn't help but let out a short laugh at that. She hadn't realized it was the closest she had come to a laugh since her father passed.

"Really? How often does that line work for you?" She asked, turning her attention back to her book. The boy seemed to consider this before shrugging once more.

"First time I've tried it." He admitted.

"Keep at it then." Rose said, not looking up from her book as she ended the conversation there. Hopefully this boy would have some sense and go back to whatever it was he was doing and allow her to get back to her book. It seemed for a long while that he had gotten the not so subtle hint and decided to leave her alone. At least, that was until he spoke up once more.

"Why ballet?"

Rose sighed in slight frustration, though she didn't look up at him. She still held onto hope that he would give up and leave her alone.

"Why ballet? I mean, you could do anything. Why this?" he continued.

"My mother was a ballerina." She told him, not even making an effort to hide the annoyance in her replies. The boy looked down at her, apparently not satisfied at all with her response.

"But why?"

"What do you mean?" Rose asked; closing her book and setting it aside before she looked up at him once more. Why could he not be satisfied with her answer and be done with it? "I like it and I'm good at it. Why else would I do it?"

"I suppose you have a point." He nodded, finally considering her words. Rose looked up at him a moment, studying him curiously. He had barely moved since their conversation began.

"Why don't you come down here and talk to me instead of hiding up there?" She asked.

"Can't come down until I sort this out." He replied, declining to go into any further details about the matter. Rose frowned at that. Sort what out exactly? There appeared to be nothing wrong with any o the curtain or the rigging as far as she could make out.

"What's the problem?"

"I'll figure it out." He assured her, apparently dismissing any involvement she wanted to have. Rose rolled her eyes, murmuring under her breath at his stubbornness.

"Because you're doing a splendid job so far, aren't you?" She reminded him. The boy seemed to fall silent for a moment, weighing up the consequences of letting her in on what he was doing.

"...the curtain's loose." He admitted finally, looking rather sheepish that he had resulted in bothering a ballet rat with his problems. Rose looked at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean it's loose?" She wondered, sitting up straighter in her seat. The boy shrugged, careful not to let go or move from his post.

"It's loose. Something's gone wrong with the ropes, so I've got to hold It in places until the others get back with replacement."

It was then that the pieces started to fit together, and Rose was able to fully understand. She bit her lip, trying to contain the laugh that was threatening to spill from her lips. After a moment, she regained her composure and turned her attention back to him.

"You're new, aren't you?" She wondered.

"...Why?" He questioned, sending her a look of utter confusion.

"Let go of the rope."

"What?"

"Just let go of it. Trust me." She assured him, crossing her arms over her chest as she patiently waited. His gaze shifted repeatedly between her and the rope, his lip caught between his teeth in fear as slowly and rather hesitantly, he let go of the rope. His eyes closed, anticipating the sound of a large crash to follow.

But it didn't.

Opening his eyes, he was astounded to find that there had been no crash or any real movement from the curtain at all. The rope simply felt from his hands, swaying slightly as it dangled against the ground. The curtain was still standing, as though it were a miraculous feat, seemingly unfazed by what had happened.

The boy looked confused, and once again turned his gaze from the curtain to the grinning redhead down below. Rose looked up at him, seeing no point in hiding her amusement at the entire situation any longer. She shifted and got to her feet, looking at him with almost a mock pride.

"You have passed your initiation trial. My sincerest congratulations to you." She told him rather bluntly. He looked at her as though she had just told him all the secrets of the universe in a matter of seconds; a look of sheer disbelief on his face.

"...What?"

"Don't take it personally. Every new hand that is recruited goes through the same thing." She explained, quickly dismissing his fears. "Though I am rather impressed you lasted this long."

"Oh..." He murmured sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he attempted to shake off his rather obvious embarrassment. After a moment, he lifted his head, seemingly shrugging off the whole incident. "How did you know that?"

"I've lived here my whole life. I've seen it happen before." She admitted, shrugging nonchalant. The boy looked at her as though she had in an instant grown another head on her shoulders.

"And you didn't think to tell me sooner?" he wondered. Rose smirked and shrugged again by way of response. The boy shook his head, but managed a light chuckle.

"What's your name?" He asked, moving to lean his arms against the railing, now free to do as he wished after letting the rope go free. Rose looked at him with scrutiny, taking her time considering whether or not she should answer.

"Rose."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Rose. You can call me Nicholas." He said, introducing himself with a polite but over exaggerated bow. Rose cracked a smile as she returned the gesture with a small curtsy.

"So, you know everything there is to know about this place then?" Nicholas wondered, standing straight once more. Rose furrowed her brow as she thought about it. She had grown up in the Opera house since the day she was born. She knew every inch of the building; the passages, the backstage and auditorium, the grand foyer. More than that, she knew the underground like the back of her hand.

"I suppose I do, yes." She replied, nodding as she looked up at him once more.

"How does a ballerina manage that?" He wondered, clearly impressed. Rose's smile faltered slightly, though didn't disappear in its entirety.

"My father was a stagehand. He taught me everything he knew." She explained. Nicholas could tell that there was more to it than that, but he saw the change n her features and decided that he wouldn't press any further.

"I see. Well, maybe you could fill me in on how things are run around here? You know, so I don't suffer from another initiation?" Nicholas asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Rose smiled softly and moved to get her book, clutching the worn cover to her chest. "Another time, perhaps. I have somewhere I need to be."

"More rehearsal?" Nicholas asked knowingly. Rose smiled and shook her head, dusting her skirts as she stepped off the prop piece.

"No, visiting a friend." She corrected him. With a smile and a small wave, she left her new acquaintance to his own devices as she disappeared behind the curtain. Storing her book in a small pocket of the stage for later, Rose disappeared behind a large part of the stored set, heading down to the caverns below.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Rose knew that something was wrong the moment she reached the lower cavern. She couldn't explain it, but there was a difference in the air that she had never felt before, and it unsettled her. Though the stone walls were always cold, there was an added heaviness the further down she travelled. Rose only hoped that Erik was alright.

The feeling didn't ease when she made her way down by the lake. While her friend was nowhere in sight, she knew he couldn't be far away, hearing a slight commotion from deeper within the domain. As she headed in, there were a few things that caught her eye which were amiss. Sheet music that usually littered the floor and the piano top were either neatly piled, or nowhere to be seen; books that he had let her borrow or gave the promise to do so in the future were out of sight. But her main concern was that each mannequin that held a mask was completely bare.

Something wasn't right, Rose knew that much.

"Erik?"

She could hear commotion coming from the other side of the domain, near where she knew Erik's sleeping quarters were located, yet she had yet to see any sign of the man in question. Rose looked around, trying to get a sense of what was going on. And then she saw it. Resting on one of the marble tabletops that littered the room, was a suitcase.

"Rose."

There was a tone to his voice that she had never heard before. It was quiet, almost pained. Rose slowly turned around and found him standing there before her, avoiding her gaze. Even with the mask, she could see an almost pained reaction on his face.

"Erik, what...what's going on?" she wondered, fear coursing through every vein and nerve in her body. Part of her had suspicions, and she didn't know if she wanted to hear his response. The little voice in the back of her head told her that she wasn't going to like it.

Erik seemed to think over his response very carefully, knowing that the precise wording was necessary in a time like this. His eyes were downcast to the ground, and Rose could practically hear the cogs whirring in his head.

"I'm going to travel." He said finally, managing a small nod to himself, pleased with his reply as he lifted his head to look at her. Rose wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Yes, Erik had read of places around the world in his books, but he had never expressed any desire to see it all for himself.

"Travelling? Meaning...you're leaving?" Rose said quietly, as though to convince herself that she had indeed heard right. Erik said nothing, but nodded once in confirmation. Rose sighed softly and nodded her head slowly.

"...For how long?"

Again, Erik didn't respond right away and remained silent, something that made Rose regret asking such a question. If she had thought he looked ashamed before, it had been nothing compared to the look he was sporting then and there.

"I'm not certain." He admitted finally, determined to keep his voice steady and in check. He had no reason to become emotional. "...Perhaps indefinitely."

Erik was unable to meet her gaze, though he could feel it burning through his skin with such intensity. She was young in age, but carried far more emotion than she should. Erik felt sick. He had wanted to avoid this, hoping that perhaps he could have slipped away without her realising, and would have been half way across the ocean far out of reach before she even noticed. At least then he wouldn't have to face the look of utter heartbreak on the young girl's face. The look that was present just now.

Rose felt as though she couldn't breathe; as though she had fallen in the lake and was being weighed down and crushed by the icy water. Erik was leaving, and he might not be coming back. First her father and now the only other friend she had in this wretched world. It took every strength she had for her not to cry. She wasn't going to allow that to happen.

"But...you can't leave." She told him quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't know what I'll do without you."

Despite himself, the corners of his lip curled at her comment. She would feel that now, but soon rose would see that her life was better lived without him in it. While Erik had been grateful for her years of dare he say it, friendship, he knew that a young girl such as she deserved much more. She had far too much to live for, and so much talent and warmth to share, Rose deserved the warmth of the sun, not to spend her days underground in the darkness to keep him company.

"I highly doubt that, mon amie." He assured her with a light chuckle. "You don't need me."

But Rose was stubborn, as he well knew. She wasn't going to take no for an answer, nor one as simple as that. She shook her head furiously, her emotions starting to get the better of her.

"This isn't fair! I lost my father, and now you!" she cried out, vigorously rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. "Why are the people I care about leaving me?"

Erik watched her as she slowly broke down and gave in to her emotions. Determined to look away from him, she marched over to his organ, sitting down on the seat and buried her head in her hands. He felt foolish, that a child's actions were having such an effect on him like this. With a sigh, Erik moved to her side and sat down on the bench beside her. Rose refused to look up at him, focused intently on her lap.

"Rose, come now. Do not cry for me." He urged her, his voice soft and pleading. After a moment, the girl lifted her head to look at him, tears clouding her vision.

"I'm going to miss you." She said with finality, conceding defeat and knowing that there wasn't a thing she could do to stop him. After all, she had no right to ask him to stay because of her.

"You'll find you won't even remember that I've gone. I have no doubt that you'll forget me soon enough." He quipped lightly, to which Rose shook her head in defiance. The thought made him smile, if only a little. He had come to realise that over time, he was truly lucky to have such unwavering friendship.

The pair fell into silence once more, the looming knowledge of his imminent departure hanging over their heads. Neither dared to speak, fearing that it would be their last spoken to one another.

"You will come back, won't you?" Rose asked finally. She knew it was a childish request, that he had no obligation to do any such thing, but the small glimmer of hope lay in the air, awaiting his response. Erik glanced at the small girl beside him, looking up with him with bright green eyes that were unsure whether to allow her hopes to be raised. He knew if he were to refuse her, he would break what was left of her heart, and the guild would surely be with him for the rest f his miserable life.

After a moment, he sighed softly and nodded his head. There was very little doubt that he would return to Paris, despite his constant desire to be rid of the city and its people. Whether or not she would be here when he did was another matter entirely. She could have a career, a life...a husband and a family, depending on how much time he allowed to pass. Erik figured that at least this way, he would never truly be breaking his promise to her.

Rose however, was not entirely convinced. She knew how he longed to flee the city, have the chance at possibly a new beginning elsewhere, and how there was little reason for him to return at all. As much as she cared for him, and he perhaps for her, there was nothing keeping Erik in Paris at all. That was what terrified her the most.

"Do you promise?"

Again, her words were childish. She was a young adult now, and should be beyond the realms of childhood fantasies such as promises like that. If her mother knew, she would admonish her, telling her not to worry herself with trivial things that had no importance. But they were important, to her at least. And by the look on Erik's face, it was somewhat important to him too. Slowly but surely, he nodded his head.

"You have my word." He vowed. Hearing his words, Rose had no fear or hesitation that he was telling the truth. His words soothed her fears, calming her to the point where she would not feel so distraught when the time came for him to leave.

In that moment, Erik wasn't sure what he could do to further prove himself. He knew she understood, yet he still felt unsettled, with a guilt that was lingering for his apparent desire to leave her behind. Gently, he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I promise, I will always come back to you." He murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead in a move that surprised both of them. The moment she felt him pull away, Rose lifted her head to look at him. A small smile reached her lips as she nodded her head silently, making peace with his promise.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Rose didn't remember falling asleep that evening, nor did she remember how she managed to wake up in her own bed the following morning. She knew as soon as she adjusted to her surroundings that Erik had carried her and brought her back above ground. She knew, despite the fact that the rest of the girls were sleeping soundly in their beds, that it was morning, and that Erik would be long gone by now. Though she held onto his promise that he would one day return, there as a pain in her heart that rose couldn't shake. Settling down in her bed, she clutched the doll that he had made her to her chest and quietly sobbed at how cruel and unkind fate seemed to be. But more than that, she cried for the loss of her dearest friend.

 _Disclaimer:_ I don't own the song or lyrics to 'Goodnight My Friend'. That belongs to Alan Menken and the team at Galavant. I wasn't going to include songs in this fic but I have a feeling that might play a part later on down the track.


	5. Here's To The Ones Who Dream

With the dawning of a new day, there came a change in the wind, and those residing within the opera house awoke to a distinct feeling in the air as they set about their daily duties. No one could quite tell what had happened seemingly overnight, but were content in the fact that their work seemed to go on without disruption. Workers were still on their toes regarding aspects of their work, but were both shocked and rather overjoyed to find that there was no interruption from the eyes that they feared. The inevitable passing of time came and went rather quickly, and soon more were noticing a lack of a certain presence in the walls of the opera house.

Workers could not recall the last time they had heard a whisper from the Opera Ghost. At first, during the first few days of his supposed absence, they were skeptical; simply believing him to be biding his time before he made another unwanted appearance. But none ever came, and soon, the tension and expectation in the air seemed to ease, and they began and ended work daily with a smile. For the first time in many years, the Opera Populaire could go about its business and run completely unaffected.

The same could not be said for Rose.

The once bright and lively young girl had become more withdrawn and quiet, causing some of her closest companions to worry for her. It had not been long since Luc's passing, so they simply expected it to be a delayed bout of grief, knowing it was bound to happen sooner or later. They were not aware that the young girl had lost two of the people she cared about most in quick succession, and just how broken her young heart seemed to be. Day by day, she moved about in a daze, monotonously going about her daily routine. Her sister and Nicholas tried their hardest to pull her out of her slump, tempting her with days out and some of her favourite things to keep her mind on track, but they were never quite able to bring back the Rose they knew and adored.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months, and the Opera Populaire flourished as the seasons passed without the watchful gaze of the Opera Ghost. Whispers were rampant about what happened to the being that had haunted their halls and caused fear to strike in even the bravest of men. Some say he died, had he been alive at all; others say he grew bored with toying with their lives and simply went away, while few still held the stagnant belief that he never existed at all. And the one who knew the truth, she simply remained quiet, choosing not to take part in whatever gossip they created about a man none of them knew at all.

Regardless of the reason, the inhabitants of the Opera Populaire returned to work without a care in the world. No longer were they watching their every move, eyes cast over their shoulders in constant trepidation. The Phantom of the Opera was simply nothing more than a ghost story of old.

It was during this time that Antoinette Giry wandered through the hallowed halls with another stray in tow. For the past several months she had been in correspondence with Gustav Daaé, a Swedish Violinist who travelled around, performing his music with his only child, a daughter named Christine. However, an illness had befallen the man and he learned that he was not long for the world, and wished to secure a home and education for his young child. It had come to an arrangement that Antoinette would take Christine into her care and enroll her to train with the ballet corps. When word came that Gustav Daaé was on his deathbed, Antoinette made the journey to collect the girl and bring her back to Paris.

Christine Daaé was a small, yet pretty child at the age of seven, with a sweet nature that was often overshadowed by her shyness. The day of her arrival was spent hidden behind Antoinette's skirts, peeking out occasionally before rushing back. It wasn't until Meg Giry introduced herself, declaring it her mission for Christine to feel at home in the Opera house. Before too long, the two were completely inseparable.

A short time after her arrival at the Opera House, Rose had noticed that while it was clear Christine was slowly coming out of her shell, slowly but surely, there were bouts when she would often curl up in her bunk and not wish to talk to anyone, even Meg. One night, when all the other ballet girls were sound asleep, Rose woke up to the soft sounds of crying. She looked across the room, to find the small girl huddled in her bed, clutching a small doll and sobbing into her pillow. Rose frowned to herself, and slipped out from under the covers, quietly making her way over to her bed.

"Christine." She whispered, perching on the edge of the bed. For a moment, the little girl simply hid further under her covers. "What's wrong, little one?"

There was silence for a long time, though sure enough, the sobs grew quieter and quieter, though they did not disappear completely. Not a few moments later, a small head of brown curls popped out from deep within the blanket.

"I...I miss my Papa." She murmured brokenly, fussing to wipe her eyes, in slight fear of being told off. Rose looked at the girl with soft eyes, understanding immediately. She smiled softly and reached out to brush a curl from the little girl's eyes.

"Come with me." She said quietly, getting off the bed and reaching for Christine's robe.

"Where are we going?" The girl asked in confusion, but took the garment and got out of bed none the less. Rose merely smiled and held a finger to her lips. She lit a candle from the table beside her and struck a match, pocketing the rest and motioning for the girl to follow her.

The two slipped from the room, heading out into the darkened halls of the opera house. Christine clutched Rose's hand as though her life depended on it, keeping safely by her side, feeling as though she would surely bump into something in the darkness. She was pleasantly surprised, however, to find them moving through the halls seamlessly, almost like a ghost.

"How do you know where you're going?" Christine asked in a timid voice.

"This place has been my home for as long as I can remember." Rose smiled. "I know these halls in the light and dark better than anything else."

They were silent for the rest of their journey, passing through the stage where the single Ghost Light was standing dutifully, serving its purpose in protecting the theatre and all within it. Carefully and as silently as they could, the two worked their way down uninhabited halls until they reached a room.

It was simple, stone walls with a beautiful stained glass window, depicting a saint, letting in a stream of pale moonlight, reflecting on the floor below. Rose let go of Christine's hand and moved to light the candles resting on prickets in the corner of the room. Christine let out a soft breath of relief as the room filled with a soft light.

"Where are we?" she asked, glancing around the room. There wasn't much to it, other than a few candles and the window. She moved a little closer, and noticed a small station adorned with pictures. Rose smiled and took her hand as she made her way over. Glancing at the pictures, she smiled softly when her eyes fell upon a familiar face.

"That man there. That's my father, Luc Giry." She said, pointing the sweet face she saw in her dreams every night. Christine looked at the image with a soft wonder.

"Your father?" she asked. Rose smiled softly and nodded.

"Each of these miniatures is of someone that we have lost or who is no longer with us. We put them here so that we can keep them close, and come and light a candle for them to pay our respects." She explained.

"Like you're visiting them?" Christine asked.

"Just like we're visiting them. I was thinking that perhaps we could add your father here too, if you'd like?" Rose offered gently. Christine looked up at the elder girl in a mixture of surprise and perhaps even joy.

"Really? You'd let me have my papa here to visit?" She asked, clasping her tiny hands together in hopeful prayer. Rose smiled and nodded.

"Of course. That way, he's here with you always." She said, letting out a soft sigh as she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over the small portrait of her father's smiling face. "Like a guardian angel."

Christine was quiet for a moment, seemingly alone with her thoughts as she got used to the idea.

"I have a guardian angel. Well, my father told me that I did." She said quietly. Rose turned to look at her, brow raised in interest as she smiled warmly at the girl.

"Really?" she wondered, kneeling down on the stone floor beside the girl. Christine nodded her head, though her focus was still on the flickering candlelight before them.

"When I was really little, my father would tell me stories about the Angel of Music, and how when he was sleeping, he would send him to come find me and watch over me." She explained, shrugging slightly after a moment. "I don't think he's found me yet, though."

Rose smiled and rested her hand on Christine's shoulder, pulling her a little closer as they sat.

"I have no doubt that he will."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Seasons changed and time followed its course, and while Rose grew up, the memories of her lost companion were never too far from her mind. He had been one of her earliest memories, the person she felt closest to, despite his initial grudge. But that didn't seem to matter much, at least not as much as it did to her. As the years passed, so did her hope of him ever returning to her, and it seemed to drift and fade more and more with each passing day. Eventually, even Rose had learned to get by without him.

She had spent days lamenting the loss of the only other person she held dear, only to wake one morning feeling rather foolish. Her sadness was not going to bring Erik back; he chose to leave, and she knew she had no right in asking him to stay, no matter how much she wanted him to. It was from that point on that she made up her mind, deciding that she would no longer let it consume her thoughts. Instead, Rose threw herself into her determination to reach the one goal she had wanted her entire life; to be the Prima Ballerina.

During the light hours, she trained with the other girls under the strict eye of her mother, where her concentration strengthened with each passing hour, as did her body strength and ability. When night fell and the others had turned in for the evening, Rose would sneak out of the dorm and practice until the early hours, her only source of light was the ghost light on stage. More often than not, she was found by Nicholas, who proved to be more a voice of reason than Rose would care for. Through badgering and coercion, he would eventually convince her to go back to the dorms to sleep, reminding her that there was no chance of her playing the lead if she fell asleep during a performance on stage.

There was a time, over a few years in fact, that it seemed as though all the pain and hard work Rose was putting herself though seemed to be for nothing. She was putting herself though literal hell some days and it as though it was getting her nowhere. She would dance until her feet could take it no more, which gave her the skills in the art of bandaging and supporting newly formed broken toes and bleeding soles, all the while being forced to stand in the crowd and watch as another girl ascended the ranks to become the Prima Ballerina. Though on the outside, her face would smile and applaud, hugging and congratulate the lucky girl, each time another name was selected, a little piece of her heart would break away and turn to dust.

By the age of sixteen, Rose had all but given up hope in her dream. While Nicholas and Meg assured her that there was no reason to give up, she found herself putting less of herself into each rehearsal, feeling as though she could not afford to lose anymore of herself than she already had. Her demanding night practices ceased after Nicholas found her collapsed on stage, crying silently to herself, finally almost reaching breaking point. She had done nothing but work towards her dream since she could walk and talk, and with every day that passed, her dream seemed to be getting further and further out of reach. Though her friend assured her the best he could, his words not quite having the intended effect, there were only two people that Rose longed to hear comforting words from, and neither of them could provide their wisdom, and were nothing but foggy sounds in her memory.

She had all but hung up her ballet shoes for the last time. She was relatively skilled in other areas of the opera, knowing that her life was here, and she could hardly go in search of work anywhere else. There were certain things that she could just not part with. Two weeks after her seventeenth birthday, the Opera Popular announced its upcoming season, and along with it the news that their current Prima Ballerina would be stepping down and leaving the country. The news had sparked whisperers throughout the company; some wishing to know the reason why their lead was leaving so suddenly. There was talk of all sort of scandal, but for Rose, it meant one thing only.

This could be her chance.

It was as though one woman's ill decision making skills had reignited the fire within her once again. Rose felt a reason to train, her passion ablaze once more for the dance and to prove that she was just as capable of being the star, just as her heart desired. Not for the fame or the fortune, but for the sheer love of the art.

Once more Nicholas and Meg, now a young dancer in her own right, watched from the wings; observing as the sister and friend they knew had returned to them, with a more fierce determination that they had ever seen. Though they never said a word, while they both knew that Rose deserved it more than anyone, neither of them wanted to imagine what would happen if she didn't succeed.

With her newly reinstated passion to achieve her goal, Rose gained the support and encouragement of the entire company, barring a few exceptions of course. One such exception was Guilietta Sorelli. A skilled and talented dancer in her own right, she came to Paris from Italy as a young girl, like so many others, hoping to make a name for herself as a ballerina. A superstitious woman, she felt unease at the prospect of performing in a venue that had until only a few years prior, been haunted by the likes of the Opera Ghost. It wasn't until the assurance of Antoinette that there was no ghost haunting the halls that Sorelli finally took to the stage. While she was beautiful and held the grace of a dancer, Sorelli seemed to lack the patience to stand the length of time it often took to reach one's desires, particularly in the world of the Opera Populaire, though her talent could not be denied by anyone, least of all Rose.

After weeks of rehearsing, late night practice and striving to prove that they were good enough for the role, it came time for the announcement. The company gathered on stage, waiting with baited breath. The two front running competitors each stood either side of Lefèvre; Rose with Nicholas and Meg, surrounded by close company members, and Sorelli with her small group of devoted followers. The tension was thick in the air, almost stifling as the Manager babbled though the appropriate ceremony and circumstance before the reveal.

Rose was so focused on keeping a strong resolve, making sure that she didn't faint from the nerves that were threatening to consume her that she almost missed it. Almost. But then her sister was hugging her, and others were cheering and sounding their congratulations. Her entire body was shaking as she soon realized that she had finally done it, she had been cast as the lead ballerina. All she could do was smile, silently praying for the tears to remain at bay until she was away from the masses. Sorelli approached her with a small but kind smile and a word of congratulations before disappearing through the crowd, no longer in the mood for celebration. Amidst all the chaos, Rose found her mother standing by the wings; stern and tall, but a small smile gracing her lips as she nodded in approval. Rose barely had a chance to return the gesture before she was lifted off the ground, letting out a yelp of surprise as Nicholas spun her around happily. She grinned and let out a laugh of pure joy, clutching the necklace around her neck and only imagining how proud her father would be right now. She felt free, as though years of hard work had instantly been relieved from her mind. Though the joy played heavily on her mind, deep inside Rose could not ignore the aching feeling of wanting to share the news with someone else.

That evening a small group of their company, mainly comprised those who had known Rose since she was a child, held a small celebration in the wings of the theatre. It wasn't usually customary, and Rose felt rather foolish being the centre of attention and celebrated by those she considered her family above all else. But they had ignored her pleas and insisted. After all, they had known how hard she had worked to get to where she was.

After a few hours celebrating, Pierre, one of the original crew that worked with Luc got up on a table, gaining everyone's attention; tapping against his wine bottle with an orchestral baton he had pilfered from Monsieur Reyer years ago.

"Tonight we celebrate one of our own," He began, addressing the crowd with an almost humorous dramatic flair. Honestly it was a wonder he didn't perform on the stage instead of building it. "Our dear little Rosie. After so many years of hard work and dedication, finally clawing her way up the ranks of the ballet corps and realizing her dream."

A chorus of cheers filled the room, saluting their glasses at their girl. Rose was standing by, leaning against Nicholas, his arms around her. She rolled her eyes with a smile, dismissing the lot of them, but they didn't relent. Pierre let out a chuckle at her obvious embarrassment and ushered them to hush once more.

"As much as I know we would love to embarrass you, Petite Fleur, I will simply say this. We are thrilled and overjoyed for you, Rose. You've worked so hard and soon everyone will know of just how special you are. And, I know for certain that your Papa would be so proud of you. There is no doubt that he's smiling down on you now. Voici à ceux qui rêvent .To Rosie!"

"To Rosie!"

Rose looked away for a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes as everyone clapped and cheered around them. She smiled and curtsied jokingly as Pierre stepped down off the table and wandered over to her. Handing her glass to Nicholas, she rushed over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug, which he happily returned. She had never been more grateful to have such an incredible band of misfits and loving people as her family. With the sappier side of things down and out of the way, the group celebrated well into the night, a skill that they took pride in after perfecting it over the years.

The following day, despite feeling the effects of too much wine consumed the night before, Nicholas treated Rose to a picnic along the river, a sort of moment of relaxation outside the walls of the opera house before the madness of her new life began. He had invited Madame Giry, who politely declined, and Meg who was eager to join the two, and happily brought Christine. She was proving to be a sweet girl, but still very shy, hardly ever leaving Meg's side acting as her shadow. Rose could only suppose that it was still a shock moving there, considering her circumstances, and with time she would surely come out of her shell. The troupe spent the afternoon in the sunshine, lazing by the riverside and enjoying what little time off away from the Populaire that they could manage, all knowing that things were likely to never be quite the same again.

From that moment on, life seemed to change once more for Rose. She was quickly ushered into rehearsals, that of which she was used to but her new position demanded much more than it did as a background chorus dancer. In the midst of it all, Rose was shifted from the dormitories where she had spent so many years with the other girls, and put into her very own suite. At first, she didn't understand why it was necessary; she was, after all still the same person as she was before. But Monsieur Lefèvre insisted, stating that with her new standing, she would need to ensure her beauty rest among other concerns.

This new elevated status also came with other luxuries that Rose had not considered in her wildest dreams. She soon discovered that her plain and practical dresses would not suit the Prima Ballerina she was to become, not when she was representing the Populaire and its standing and she would require new dresses along with her costumes. The concept was strange and foreign to the girl, unaccustomed to grandeur other than living within the Opera House itself. She was the child of a stage hand and a ballet mistress, nothing more than that. The costumers, on the other hand, decided to take it upon themselves to make sure that her wardrobe was fitted with something that would satisfy both Rose and the Manager, and no extra charge to either party, other than out of the love in their hearts they had for the young star to be.

It was one evening when Rose was sitting alone in her new rooms, surrounded by beautiful objects, and dressed in the finest wears she had ever touched by hand. It was in that moment that she fully began to understand just how her life was changing, and quickly at that. With a sigh, she touched the necklace around her neck, her fingers brushing against the moon and the star, seeking the guidance of her guardian angel.

"I just hope I'm ready for this, Papa." She murmured to the air.

Rose had never felt anything quite like she did when she was dancing. The swell of the music, dancing under the lights in perfect synchrony; the feeling was indescribable. She felt a jolt of adrenaline when she leapt across the stage with the utmost concentration and finesse. There was, however, a brief moment when she could have sworn that she had seen a flicker of white from the side stage, but she knew she had only been imagining things. Later that night, when she was standing centre stage, a bouquet of roses laying in the crook of her arm as she bowed, the audience clapping and cheering for their new Prima Ballerina at her debut, Rose looked up high above the stage, and in her mind's eye, she could see her father in the rafters, beaming down at her with absolute pride.

oOoOoOoOoOo

 _1864_

There are many things in life that one must do for the benefit of others, thus resulting in pride in one's self and the possible chance of adulation from others. Often, these tasks were done without desire for credit, and merely out of the goodness of one's heart, because that was what a friend did. Nicholas often prided himself on being a good friend. He would gladly offer his services whenever needed without expecting anything in return, particularly if there was a redheaded Prima Ballerina doing the asking.

However, there were times where he did wonder why he put himself in these situations. Sitting in the orchestra pit, practically twiddling his thumbs while said ballerina practiced relentlessly on stage was one of those times. There was no confusion about it; he enjoyed watching her practice or any means to support her. But there was only so much he could take in one particularly long day. He had to wonder how she was able to work so hard for so long without even appearing as though she was growing tired, though knowing Rose, she would never admit it if she was.

"Surely you're feeling tired by now." He wondered, his legs drumming against the edge of the orchestra's wall. Rose threw a light laugh over her shoulder as she spun around once more.

"Not at all. But you're not being forced to watch me, you do realize that don't you?" she wondered, lifting herself en pointe with the simplest of ease.

"Well, what kind of gentleman would I be if I weren't supportive?" he questioned, shrugging his shoulders with a playful grin. Rose rolled her eyes, but grinned as she continued to balance herself, making sure her breaths were even paced and calculated. After a moment of watching her, Nicholas sighed and pulled himself up onto the stage.

"What are you doing?" Rose wondered, looking at him with an almost quizzical look matched with slight trepidation. In all their years of friendship, she had learned when it came to Nicholas, to not take a little warning. Too often he would remind her just how playful he could be.

"What does it look like? I'm helping you." He told her, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Rose looked at him as though he had miraculously grown another head. She paused, waiting for the punch line, but it never came.

"How do you expect to do that? You don't dance." She reminded him pointedly, crossing her arms across her chest. She knew she had to be serious, but this was far too funny. Nicholas rolled his eyes as he dusted himself off and moved towards her.

"You can show me." He insisted, much to her incredulousness. "Oh, come on, Rose. It can't be that hard."

"People train their whole lives to do this." She reminded him, waving him off as nothing but a folly. "I've trained my whole life, remember?"

"And I've watched you do it. Surely I've picked up a few steps along the way?" Nicholas wondered, a charming grin on his lips. Playing his cards right, he knew she would have to give in eventually. He fixed his posture, moving to stand in one of the positions he had seen her rehearse. Rose let out a laugh at the sight of it.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look quite so foolish. Shall I fetch a costume for you?" she laughed, shaking her head.

"Come on, I'll catch you." He said, holding his arms out expectantly. Rose let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head vehemently.

"No you will not, you'll drop me!" she insisted.

"What makes you think I'd drop you?"

"Because I know you well enough." She sneered, only partially joking. Nicholas gasped dramatically, sending her a wounded look as he clutched his hand to his heart.

"You cut me to the quick, mademoiselle. Do you really have such little faith in me?" he wondered, giving her his best doe-eyed expression. But Rose wasn't having any of it.

"Yes." She replied simply, crossing her arms across her chest. She appreciated a good joke every now and then, but there was a time and a place for such things.

"Hey!" Nicholas cried, acting as though she had just belittled his honour in the most horrendous way possible. Rose eventually sighed, rolling her eyes. She knew he would pout and complain until she gave in, as he often did.

"If I agree to let you catch me once will you top this?" She wondered, conceding. As though like magic, the pout was gone; replaced with a triumphant grin as Nicholas clapped his hands together excitedly, nodding his head and standing ready in position. Rose shook her head at his ridiculousness, but straightened nonetheless.

"Alright, we'll do something easy. I'll count down from three, and then I'll run. You better catch me or I swear I will make your life hell." She threatened, though a grin was pulling at her lips. Though he was smiling, there was no doubt that Nicholas knew her threats were true should she put her mind to it. He nodded, and held his arms out ready for her. Rose took a deep breath, still not quite believing that she was about to go through with this. She closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself before she started off in a run towards the other side of the stage. She knew the layout better than anything else; how many steps it took to get to the other side at whatever pace. She felt less afraid with her eyes closed, knowing he would be less likely to miss catching her if he knew there was more pressure on him. With the distance between them growing shorter, Rose braced herself for what she was convinced to be inevitable impact. At the last second, she gave in and opened her eyes, just as she spotted Nicholas grinning at her. On the last step, he opened his arms, and Rose jumped, thankful to feel his hands supporting her under her legs and supporting her back as he spun her around. Rose let out a giggle as she held her legs pointed in position, holding onto him tight around the neck as he continued to spin her.

"You're going to make me dizzy!" she said, resting her head on his shoulder as he started slowing down, coming to a complete stop, with Rose still in his arms.

"I told you I could do it." He said proudly, beaming triumphantly at her. Rose scoffed and slapped his chest, though it didn't deter his joy.

"Do I even want to ask what's going on here?" a curious voice asked from side stage. The two turned around and found Meg watching them, arms crossed over her chest with a rather sceptical and amused look on her face.

"I was just proving to your sister that I can, in fact, dance." Nicholas said, all too proudly. Meg raised her brow at him, turning to her sister, who looked rather fed up with his ridiculousness. Rose rolled her eyes, slapping him again.

"You proved nothing. Also, you can put me down now, you know." She reminded him. Sighing dramatically, Nicholas lowered her to her feet, not letting go of her until she was on the ground.

"Well, Mademoiselle. Does this mean that your faith in me is restored just a little?" he wondered. Rose folded her arms across her chest and looked away, but not before Nicholas had a chance to catch the smile playing at her lips. The younger Giry merely shook her head at the scene before her, knowing that it was frightfully all too common when it came to the pair of them.

"You both are ridiculous." She murmured, shaking her head. Rose and Nicholas merely shared a grin as the younger of the two walked over with a grin, with a small spring in her step.

"Ah, but it keeps our days interesting, does it not Little Sister?" Rose asked, moving to the other end of the stage. She untied her shoes and slipped out of them, letting out a soft sigh of relief. As much as she loved dancing, her feet did thank her when she slipped out of her shoes for the evening. Meg watched her sister for a moment, coming to stand beside her, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"So, when are you two planning on announcing your engagement?" she asked, a wry smile playing at her lips. Rose's head shot up so fast it was a miracle she didn't snap her neck. She looked at her sister with an incredulous look, the young blonde merely grinning as she awaited an answer.

"Bite your tongue, Marguerite." She snapped, putting emphasis on her sister's full name and glancing over at Nicholas, who was presently slipping her jacket on. The very idea itself was ridiculous; she and Nicholas had been friends since they were children, that was all.

"But you two are so well matched together. Don't you find him handsome?" Meg pressed. Rose sighed and shook her head. Nicholas was handsome, yes. But she couldn't bear to think of him as anyone but her friend. There were no romantic feelings there whatsoever. If she did ever marry, she wanted a love as pure as the one her father had with Madame.

"Off with you, cheeky thing." Rose said, affectionately swatting her sister away with her shawl. The younger Giry merely grinned and dodged the garment, shrugging her shoulders and taking her leave, slipping back behind the curtain. Rose sighed and shook her head. She loved her sister more than anything, but she was as trying as she was forward.

"Where are you heading?" Nicholas wondered, making his way over as Rose got to her feet, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, preparing to leave.

"I think I'm going to retire for the evening. I haven't been sleeping too well lately." Rose said, picking up her ballet shoes.

"Why don't you come to a party?" Nicholas suggested, all too excitedly. Rose sighed softly. Once upon a time she would have loved to have gone to a party, especially if it was thrown by her family. But these days, with her spending so much time in rehearsal and practice, she wasn't sure whether she had the strength. But the look on her friend's face told her that he wasn't going to let it go without a fight. It would be easier to just agree and take an hour or so out of her night to go with him.

"...What kind of party?"

"Nothing extravagant. It's just the crew having a little shindig under the theatre. " he shrugged, an impish grin still on his cheeks. Rose looked at him for a moment; judging by the look on his face, she knew there was no real chance of her getting out of it. Could she deny that of him, when he had done so much lately to help her, usually putting himself second? She wasn't entirely sure that she could deny the fact that a rather large part of her wanted to go; it had been too long since she had spent some time with her friends, letting loose and not worrying about much at all.

Glancing at Nicholas once more, Rose rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, nodding her head in mock reluctance. The grin that he gave her was truly the definition of triumphant. Nicholas all but ran to her side, collecting her shoes from her hand and offering her the crook of his arm.

"You won't regret it, Rosie. You know I'm right." He teased, leading their journey backstage.

"I suppose I'm right that you won't let me go change first?" She wondered, a knowing smile on her lips. Nicholas merely glanced at he, beaming as they continued on their way, weaving in and out from behind large set pieces, and heading down into the lower halls of the opera house.

The closer they got, the louder the music and the joyous laughter grew; filling the hallowed halls, echoing around them. The crew of the Opera Populaire were a hard working lot, that fact could never be denied. They lived for their art and most of them could be counted on to put their heart and soul into their craft. But for their hard work, they often required a chance to relax and recuperate, and managed to do so in incredible fashion.

The party seemed to already be in full swing before they had even arrived. Glorious melodies were being played by and an array of the house musicians, set up in the centre of the room. The sounds of laughter filled the space as their friends and colleagues took a well deserved rest, throwing themselves into conversation and merriment, and of course a good drink, while others danced on tables and a makeshift dance floor surrounding the musicians.

Nicholas swiped a bottle from a table as they pass, a grin on his face as he takes a drink, offering it to Rose, who initially shakes her head refusing it. Looking around the room, even she couldn't deny that she already felt the stress and pressures of her daily rituals melting away as the music flowed through her.

"Aha! The star returns." Georges, a fellow stage hand announced, throwing his hands in the air exuberantly. Hearing the call, roughly a dozen turned their heads, cheering at their arrival and the fact that Nicholas had managed to bring her along. Rose rolled her eyes, dismissing their cheers as she finally gave in, accepting the wine bottle from Nicholas as he nudged her side.

"This one, a star? Don't be ridiculous. Deep down she's still the little rosy-haired runt who used to run up and down these halls like no tomorrow." Pierre smirked, clapping Georges on the back. Rose took a large drink and stuck her tongue out at him, like the lady she was.

"I'd be offended if that weren't true." she said with a grin, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. Even if she didn't believe it, she would be heavily outnumbered in her belief. Georges grinned, rubbing his stubbled chin wickedly as he glanced at her, still dressed in her rehearsal skirts and boots.

"Well, I think little Rosie needs to prove that she's still one of us." He declared, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, playing up the sport as others started gathering around. A good-natured man, he always was one for making a show to prove a point. "I want to see if you still know how to dance."

A few light chuckles were heard over the music, a few head shakes of disbelief as the majority of the crew continued with their merriment. Nicholas raised an incredulous brow, his glance shifting between the man and Rose.

"You are aware that they didn't make her Prima Ballerina for nothing, aren't you?" He wondered, hardly able to keep the snicker from his voice, draping his arm around her shoulders lazily.

"We know she can do ballet. I want to know if she can really dance. The way she was brought up." Georges challenged, crossing his arms across his broad chest, waiting for the young girl's response. A few onlookers ceased their conversations, sensing that a challenge could very well be underway between two fiery spirits.

Rose stood her ground, raising her brow and pursed her lips, but found herself unable to really hide the look of amusement on her face. There was no denying what he was playfully getting at; he wanted her to prove that she was still one of them. Perhaps it was the alcohol consumed, or it being her inability to refuse a challenge, especially when the odds were in her favour, but Rose was not going to concede defeat easily.

She straightened up, nudging Nicholas' arm from her shoulders much to his surprise. His grin only widened when she took a large swig form the wine bottle and handed that and her shawl over to him, sending Georges a pointed look as she pushed her way past. Cheers filled the room as Rose made her way over to a table, hiking her skirts a little and taking the Pierre's hand as he helped her up onto the table before jumping up beside her. The music swelled again as he took her hand and spun her around, the pair quite literally kicking up their heels and dancing in time to the music. Rose laughed, picking up her skirts and kicking a bottle off the table, sending it into an awaiting Hand's arms. The rowed cheered as the two danced, quick and paced in time with the music. Rose knew if her mother could see her now, the Prima Ballerina dancing as she was, she wouldn't be at all impressed. But there was that little voice that was never too far away, and Rose could swear she could hear her father's laughter melded in with the crowd's.

Nicholas watched with a beaming grin, clapping along with the rest of the crowd, as Georges shook his head and laughed along with them.

"It's good to see that some things never change." The elder man said.

"Did you really think they would?" Nicholas wondered. Georges chuckled, clapping the younger hand n the back as they watched.

"Not Rosie. I scratch my head ev'ry day wondering what we did to deserve her." He said, eyeing Nicholas knowingly. The boy pretended not to notice the pointed gaze, instead keeping his eyes trained on the redheaded beauty dancing before him, seemingly without a single care in the world. Quickly draining the last of the wine, he handed the bottle over and rushed off across the room, hoisting himself up onto the table and took Rose's hand, spinning her into him. The redhead laughed a he pulled her close as the music played on.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The music played, the wine flowed and the people danced well into the night, with no hints of slowing down. It was likely that the celebrations and festivities could and very well would go on until sunrise, without a care at all. Some of the younger partygoers however, knew that there was no way they could last quite that long. After a few more hours, barely stopping to rest their weary feet and have another drink, Rose and Nicholas slipped away quietly, leaving the others to party on.

The two stumbled down the hall, Rose attempting rather futilely to keep her friend quiet as he struggled to remain standing. There had come a point where neither one of them could remember just how much wine had been consumed, yet it was clear that Rose was the more sober of the two, considering the difficulties he was having, remaining steady on his feet.

Unable to watch where he was going, Nicholas bumped into the corner of a wall, almost tripping and nearly sending the two of them to the ground. Rose managed to pull him up as he let out a rather undignified snort of laughter. Rose was quick to move, pressing her hand to his lips to silence him, though her own smile betrayed her.

"Are you mad, do you want to wake my mother right now?" She asked in a hushed whisper. Nicholas sighed, waving away her concerns with a roll of the eyes.

"Madame would be fast asleep by now." He assured her, his words slurring as they continued to pass the doors. He straightened up a little, determined to stand on his own feet, despite knowing it was likely to end badly. "Besides, we are grown ups. We can have a little fun every now and then."

Rolling her eyes, Rose could only shake her head and smile at him. No matter what she said or did, it wouldn't stop her friend from being himself and determined to have a good time. They worked hard; she knew that, so they did deserve a little break every now and then. With her arm securely around his waist to steady him, they continued on their way.

Nicholas sighed happily, moving his own arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "You know, I don't believe that I've had that much fun since...well, I'm not entirely sure when."

"That's rather grim, don't you think?" Rose wondered dryly. After a moment's silence, his head shot up, a grin on his face.

"Since that dad at the river." He said, proud of himself. Rose's eyes widened as she held back a laugh, shaking her head at the memory.

"One of my shining moments. I still get chills thinking about it though." Rose laughed, feeling rather proud herself.

"You jumped into the Seine. I'd think you a fool if you didn't." He pointed out dryly. Rose sighed softly, shaking her head as her mind drifted back to that day. A picnic on the riverside somehow ended with her jumping into the water. Even now she could still feel the chills of the water on her skin, as well as the lecture her mother gave her about being so reckless. But Rose couldn't bring herself to regret a single moment of it.

"It made me feel... alive." She shrugged, a smile still playing at her lips.

"You're lucky you didn't catch your death."

"I'd do it again, you know?" she said, her lip catching between her teeth as she smiled. Nicholas looked at her and sighed, shaking his head.

"You're mad. Without a single doubt in my mind." He murmured. Rose only grinned, shrugging her shoulder in reply. Why bother arguing with him when he had a valid point?

The finally turned the corner, coming up to Rose's room down the hall. Pressing a finger to her lips, she motioned for him to follow her. Nodding his head obediently, Nicholas followed, his arm slipping from her shoulders to rest around her waist, holding her together, and subsequently falling against her as they reached the door. Rose fell back against her door with a light thud, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she brushed her hair from her face.

Her head was swimming with a light haze of alcohol, the first time she had really allowed her to let go and relax in what seemed like years. She supposed Nicholas was right, she had to take a break every once in a while.

"Thank you for allowing me to walk you to your door. Mademoiselle." He said with a grin. His speech slurring as he dipped into a half bow. Rose, despite the ridiculousness of the situation, could only laugh.

"I think I did most of the walking." She said, raising her brow. Nicholas furrowed his brow for a spilt second before shrugging.

"Regardless, thank you." He said. Rose smiled and shook her head, pausing a moment to collect her thought before she spoke again.

"I should be thanking you. I didn't quite realize just how uptight I was being about everything." She said quietly, biting her lip as she glanced down at the floor. "Thank you for reminding me I need to take a break."

Nicholas smiled softly, shrugging his shoulder like it was no big deal. He just wanted what was before for her, which apparently meant getting drunk and acing like an idiot. But it seemed to do the job regardless. He let out a sigh reaching out slowly to tilt her head so she was looking at him, albeit a little confused. He took a moment, just looking into her eyes, his fingers moving to brush a loose curl or two away from her face and behind her ear. Nicholas felt his eyes grow heavier as he slowly leaned in, closing the distance between them.

Noticing an unfamiliar look in his eye, Rose was quick to move. Before he got too close, she put her hand against his chest, stopping him before he had a chance to close the distance between them completely. Nicholas opened his eyes, looking down at her in a mild state of confusion.

"...Goodnight Nicholas." She murmured, her hand reaching for the door. She gave him a soft half-smile before she turned, disappearing behind her door and closing it before he had a chance to respond. Rose leaned against the back of her door, listening intently to the other side. After a moment, she heard footsteps, slowly growing faint in the distance until their disappeared completely. When she knew she was alone, she let out a breath. She knew it had to be the alcohol to blame. What other reason would he have for trying to be so forward with her?

The thought alone wasn't helping the already baffled state of her mind. Rose shook her head, not wanting to deal with thoughts like that, at least not now. Pushing herself off the door, she headed further into the room. It had been a long day, and she hadn't realized until now, but her feet were starting to ache. She moved to her dresser, pulling her shawl from her shoulders and lit the lantern, allowing a small amount of light to fill the room. Heading to her bed, she took a seat and gathered her skirts enough to pull her foot over her knee, untying her shoes, letting out a thankful sigh as her feet were free at last.

Rose stretched out a little on her bed, glancing around the room, trying to sum up what little energy she had to change and ready for bed, starting with her hair. Glancing over at her vanity mirror, she only just realized just how far from the bed it was. Why was everything so far away when she was exhausted?

She sighed and after a moment's hesitation, she pulled herself to her feet, letting out a slight wince as they hit the cold floor. Rose was about to move to change when she saw something out of the corner of her eye that she hadn't noticed before.

Laying on her dresser, with her ribbons and her trinkets, lay a purple rose. Her eyes widened as she quickly moved to the dresser with new found energy, picking up the flower with the most delicate touch. It was stunning; with deep purple petals that Rose was quite sure she had never seen anything like it in her life. She lifted her fingers to the petals, tracing over them lightly, feeling the velvet like touch along her skin. How had she not noticed it there before? Where had it come from?

As soon as the thought had left her mind, there was a feeling bubbling away, waking her up instantly. Something she had not felt for longer than she could remember. She felt hope. Rose knew that there was only one way that a rose as beautiful as this would be laying here waiting for her. There was only one person who was kind enough to bring it to her. One person who, if Rose knew well enough, hadn't simply left it, but was still present in the room with her.

Biting her lip, she put the rose back on the dresser, her eyes lifting to the mirror, scanning the darkness for any hint that he was there. She paused, searching for that feeling that she hadn't felt in many years. Surely this wasn't a trick. After a moment, she smiled and turned around facing the darkness, watching and waiting expectantly.

After a moment of silence, she could hear the light breath in the far corner of the room, hidden away in the shadows. She felt her heartbeat quicken as she waited patiently. Silence...shortly followed by the light creak of the floorboard as a figure stepped out from the darkness into the barely lit room.

Rose felt her heart stop, yet the thudding was undeniable. Far too many nights she had spend wishing and hoping for him to walk out from the shadows and come back to her, and every time she had been left disappointed. Year after year passing and it seemed less likely that Erik was ever going to return. Part of her didn't quite believe that it was real. It seemed as though that was clear on her face, for she noticed the slightest smirk pull at his lips, and a flash of white as the light from her lantern reflected on his mask.

Rose didn't think twice. Before she knew it she was rushing to the other side of the room, into his arms. Despite being one for not being touched, Erik seemed to have anticipated her move and had prepared himself, holding her so she didn't fall as he felt arms move and wrap around his neck holding him close, tighter than she ever had before. Whether he agreed to it or not, he wouldn't say a word; simply allowing her to hug him.

For the first time in his life, Erik didn't seem to mind.


	6. Perfection

He had come back to her. Rose knew that she shouldn't be so selfish; the Opera Populaire was Erik's home – far longer than it had been her own, and he had no obligation to come back only for her, nor did she have any right to believe it to be so. But for the first time in so many years, Rose felt that gaping hole in her heart start to repair itself, if only a little. While she had done all she could to move on with her life, and quite happily so, there were some wounds that could not be healed by anything other than her friend returning home.

It was strange. Rose had somewhat convinced herself that she would never see him again, and yet here he was with his arms wrapped around her tightly. If she were being honest with herself, she didn't quite know how to feel, sensing about a dozen different emotions all at once. Disbelief, joy, relief...all of them were wrapped up and bundled inside her for far too long, now taking every opportunity to jump forth and be free. She would happily take them all without a hint of understanding. She buried her face into his shoulder, breathing in a scent that was distinctly him. After so many years, she was finally reaching his height for the first time ever as tears of relief threatened to fall simply because he was truly there. Surely Erik could afford her that, even for just a moment?

He had changed. Of course he had, it had been seven long years since he left so suddenly. She could only really suppose that her surprise was due to the fact that she had held onto the memory of the Erik she knew so tightly for so long. He had always been tall, at least compared to the small child she once was. But right now, he seemed...bigger. Not in the proper sense of the word, though he was far from the thin young man she remembered. But now that Rose was finally at his height, even just a few inches shorter than him, things seemed so much different. He was no longer a giant in her eyes, but simply just...Erik. He seemed healthier too, the years away had given a slight muscle to his arms and chest that Rose did not remember the last time he held her and comforted her. That little fact seemed to make her smile, if only a little. And despite the heartache it caused her, it seemed as though getting away from the opera house did him a far greater good than he had initially anticipated.

"...you came back." She said finally, her voice muffled against the fabric of his travelling cloak. He was still dressed for travel, not taking the opportunity to change. Rose felt a slight flutter inside at the thought that perhaps he arrived to see her before all else.

Erik felt a slight feeling of indignation as he let out a breath. Though the voice was soft, it sounded as though she were truly amazed at the fact that he had returned. He supposed in his haste in leaving, he might have underestimated how his young friend would have taken it, though the guilt weighed heavily on him since the boat departed the docks.

"Did you truly doubt that I would?" he wondered, voice deep as it had ever been. A little ashamed of feeling so, Rose managed a small smile, shrugging her shoulders. She didn't want to tell him that there had been a part of her that doubted her endless faith in him.

"...I told you that I would always come back to you."

She held onto him a moment longer before she loosened her hold around his neck, only imagining how relatively unease this sudden turn of affection made him feel. Erik took the hint and released her waist, setting her down on the ground in front of him. For a moment, he was completely silent, allowing himself a moment to take in the sight of her properly now that he was out of the shadows.

"You've changed." He said simply.

Gone was the young child he had left behind all those years ago, along with the heartbroken face that on too many occasions haunted his thoughts and plagued his guilt. In her place, stood a young woman; tall and striking. Though it seemed hard to believe, the Rose he knew had grown up, turning into a rather beautiful young woman. Erik could hardly believe that this was the same little annoyance that had pestered him for years...and the same little girl that although he would never outwardly admit it, he had missed so dearly.

Rose smiled at his obvious assessment. It was the first full smile she had managed for as long as she could remember. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had thought of her as often as she had thought of him.

"Not really. But, then I do suppose that seven years will do that to a person." She said, shaking her head. Erik sent her a glare, but found his heart was not entirely in it. Curse the nostalgic feeling looming overhead. But then even he paused for a moment at hearing that. Had it really been seven years? He knew he had been away for some time, but he found on his travels that time had a habit of running into itself, leaving him unable to tell month from year at times.

"Well, you've grown." He pointed out, more of a challenging bite to his tone. Rose could barely hold back a grin, as she rocked on her heels childishly. Though she found she couldn't bring herself to care. As grown up as she was, seeing him again brought back that child like joy that until that night she had believed to be lost to her.

"I'm taller, at least." She teased, shaking her head as she smoothed out her skirts, turning to head back to her dresser. "You don't have to look down at me anymore."

Erik couldn't help notice that she seemed rather proud of that little fact. He recalled the days back when, where they would get into some form of argument, and Rose would climb on any surface she could find to aid her height so she was looking him eye to eye. The thought alone gave Erik a painful tug at his non-existent heartstrings, guilt still plaguing his mind.

"When did you get back?" Rose wondered, pulling him out of his thoughts once more as she glanced at him over her shoulder, bringing up the flame on her lantern just a little. The room brightened, reducing the shadows surrounding them. Erik glanced around the room, taking it all in. It had been one of the few rooms that he hadn't seen himself, finding no real reason to venture there in the past. There had been rumours in the past, that previous occupants had decorated it with such extravagance that it nearly rivalled that of the Prima Donna. He knew that Rose's tastes would be a little more subdued, focusing more on natural beauty rather than grandeur.

He admittedly was surprised to hear that he would find her in the Prima Ballerina's quarters, but could not ignore the swell of pride at hearing that she had succeeded in reaching her childhood dream. Rose had always been determined, and he often pitied the fool who stood in her way.

"Earlier this evening." He replied, picking up a book that had been resting on her nightstand, inspecting the cover. It had been one from his own collection, if memory served; it was the last he had allowed her to borrow before he left. Had she truly kept it close all this time? Glancing up, he saw Rose watching him with an amused interest. Quickly putting the tome down, he turned his attention back to her.

"Upon returning to my opera house I thought it a necessary duty to pay a visit and my respects to the new Prima Ballerina." He admitted with a smirk, bowing ever so slightly in her presence. At his praise, Rose smiled softly, feeling a blush in her cheeks as she turned her gaze downcast to the floor. Though his words were intended to be playful, she couldn't ignore that sense of underlying pride within them. Erik chuckled audibly at her shyness, a sound that seemed like a mere echo to the both of them. He shook his head and unfastened his cloak, pulling it from his shoulders and folding it over his arms.

"Do not be shy, mon amie. You deserve to have all of this and more." He assured her, gesturing around them. Glancing at her for a moment, he chose his next words carefully, though knew that no harm would come from them.

"I am all too certain that he would be proud of you."

His words took her mildly by surprise, and yet at the same time, they filled her with such joy and perhaps a little relief. If anyone could reassure her of her father's belief in her, it was Erik. Nobody else seemed to truly understand the weight of those words better than he Rose smiled softly as she made her way to sit on the edge of her bed, her hand going to the chain around her neck; her fingers brushing against the pendant. In times of need, she would hold it and think of her father, and be reassured of the wisdom he would no doubt bestow to her, were he alive.

"I like to think so. Days go by and part of me just...forgets that he's gone. But I feel him everywhere. The halls, the rigging...like he's still here in some way." She said softly, knowing just how foolish she was likely to sound to him. Erik said nothing, but the small smile on his face and the nod of his head let her know that he agreed with her.

"Your father was a large part of this Opera house and dedicated his life to it, longer than I ever knew him. I see no reason why he should leave, especially now that his daughters are continuing the legacy." He told her, his voice softer than it was before. Rose smiled as he hand fell away from her chain and nodded in silent agreement. Erik did always have a way with words that she never did.

He noticed how his words seemed to be a comfort to her, and the thought of that seemed to fill him with something he couldn't quite place. He nodded once, deciding to turn his attention to taking his gloves off as he took a seat in the chair by the bed.

"And what of Madame?" He wondered casually, yet deciding to tread carefully on that particular subject, knowing it was one that was usually quite delicate. Rose managed a hint of a smile on her cheeks, one that Erik noticed to be quite wistful.

"I think for the first time in my life, she's...proud of me." She said with a soft smile, shaking her head; the words sound foreign and almost ridiculous to her, even though it was she who spoke them. Erik had to admit, he was rather surprised at hearing that. Antoinette was someone he knew better than most, and her past feelings regarding her eldest weren't always as hidden as she intended them to be. But he also knew that Rose didn't have to admit it, but her mother's approval was always something that she sought to claim as her own, and rightfully so in his humble opinion. But to hear that she had apparently grown more lenient in time, well...he wasn't sure if he could fully believe it until he saw it himself, but simply the fact that it brought a smile to Rose's face was enough for him for now.

"Well, I look forward to seeing your next performance." He told her with a nod, making her smile. True, he had spent many an hour in the past watching her train and practice, and at times even coaching her. But he had yet to see her perform as she was always destined to. Though there was no doubt in his mind that she was as every bit as skilled as he believed her to be.

The redhead smiled, humming softly, shaking her head. "So, are you planning on staying long?" she asked him. Was this him coming back for good, or was he merely stopping by to tie up loose ends and disappear once more? The thought of the latter made her confident smile falter only slightly, hoping that he hadn't noticed.

He did, of course.

Erik was quiet for a long time, deciding on his to word this particular response. Eventually, he sighed, clasping his hands folded in his lap.

"I believe that I have been away from my opera house for too long. I dread to think of the destruction that that poor excuse of a manager has done in my absence." He declared. Though he didn't say it out loud, Rose knew that that was more of a confirmation that she needed; he was staying. Her smile grew once more, not bothering to try and disguise her relief at the fact.

Rose opened her mouth to respond, but quickly stopped as she felt a yawn threatening to escape her lips. She turned her head slightly to cover it, not wanting to draw attention to it at all. Again, it didn't go unnoticed by Erik.

"You are tired." He told her simply. It wasn't a question, and there was something in his voice that Rose could not quite place. She looked over at him, brow furrowed for a moment. A yawn was nothing, of course. Yes, the hour was late, but she could hardly worry about that now.

"No, I'm fine." She assured him, shaking her head and dismissing the concern. But apparently he wasn't having any part of it.

"I've come too late to visit, I...I did not realize." He told her, eyes downcast to the floor. Was it perhaps shame in his voice? Had he been too eager to visit with her that he did not care about the late hour? Not that Rose minded at all – quite the contrary actually.

"Oh, Erik it's okay. Please, I want to hear of your travels." She told him with a smile, trying to assure him the best she could, almost as though she were a child again, pleading for another story before bedtime. But Erik seemed to be unmovable in his insistence.

"That will simply have to wait until another time, Rose. You need your rest."

Erik turned to fetch his coat, knowing she would have no choice but to rest if he was no longer there proving to be a distraction. He had to remember that as much as it seemed to pain him; her life was not part of his own any longer...as he was no longer a part of hers. He couldn't simply assume that things would be different.

He was about to take his leave when he felt a hand on his arm stopping him instantly. He didn't even hear her move from the bed. Her grip was gentle, yet determined. A pause and a soft breath left his lips before Erik turned around again, meeting her eyes once more. There was a look of desperation in her eyes, and suddenly he was transported back seven long years ago; the same look in her eyes when he left the first time.

Rose faltered a moment, unable to find the words she so desperately wanted to say. She knew she was once again being selfish, and childish. He had other affairs to tend to, she was sure of it. But would it be so bad of her to want to spend more time with him? There was still a part of her that was convinced that this was all a dream, despite his assurance on the matter. Somewhere inside her, she still believed that if she slept, he would be gone again when she woke at morning.

"Erik...please?" She murmured, her eyes not leaving his; silently pleading with him. "...You've been gone so long. Stay? Just a little while?"

Her words filled him with an unwavering guilt that seemed to follow after him when it came to her. Erik had to wonder if the feeling would ever go away, or if there would ever come a time where he didn't want to make her happy, to ease her fears whatever they seemed to be. Usually something that he was the cause of, he was beginning to understand. This girl...this _woman_ , had a hold over him that he could not understand, but it would be dangerous, of that he was certain. He couldn't admit to himself just yet that perhaps it had already become so.

Silence fell upon the pair as Rose realized just how foolish she was being. She sighed inaudibly and loosened her hand on his arm before letting it drop to her side. She looked down at the bed, unable to meet his gaze as she moved to perch on the bed once more. Seven years and here she was still acting like a child upon his return. Perhaps this was part of the reason he left in the first place? She didn't dare speak or lift her head to watch him disappear, but simply waited to hear her door close once more.

"...I brought you a gift."

Her eyes widened though she still focused her gaze on the sheets upon her bed. He was still there? Rose lifted her head slowly to look at him once more. His travelling cloak was once again resting over the chair by her door, and she tried her best to keep both her job and relief under control.

"A gift?" She asked, a smile forming on her lips. "But, the rose...?"

"Can a man not venture out and return with more than one gift?" He wondered dryly, and yet Rose could detect a small glint of humour in his tone.

She wanted to tell him that his being there was a gift in itself, as was the rose that he left for her... plus the fact that he was staying was even more so. Erik nodded, clearing his thought slightly, and reaching by the door, collecting a rather beautifully presented parcel and handing it to her.

Rose looked at him in surprise, gratefully accepting the parcel. It was soft, and wrapped in the most beautiful fabric. That alone would have been a lovely gift. She smiled at him, though she noticed his slight hesitance and perhaps, nerves? What on earth did he have to be nervous about? Turning her attention back to the gift, her fingers working the cords that kept it fastened with a slow by eager touch. As she unfastened it, opening the fabric, her eyes widened, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

"On, my..." she murmured, astonished. Erik took the chance to look up at her, seeking to gauge her reaction, which was clearly one of wonder, much to his relief.

"...It's Persian silk. Specially crafted" He explained, watching her as she lifted the garment out of the wrapping. A beautiful hand crafted robe, in shades of purple and gold; made of the finest silk he could find. His days wandering the bazaars on his travels had gifted him with treasures that could not be sourced anywhere else in the world. But the moment that he had seen it, he knew he had to have it. He always thought she looked best in purple; it seemed to bring out her hair. And gold, well...that seemed to suit her too.

Rose felt at a loss for words. She had never seen anything this exquisite, let alone had it in her possession. Even the Prima Donna's wears couldn't come close to the beauty that was in her hands. Specially rafted, meaning that Erik had it made with her in mind as its owner. For whatever reason, the thought made her feel so warm, likely evident by the soft smile currently gracing her lips.

"Erik...it's beautiful." She murmured, running her fingers lightly over the fabric. There was a part of her that feared she would ruin it somehow if she was too harsh with her touch. She almost shook her head in disbelief, unsure if she was worthy of such a gift.

"I...took an estimate of the fit." Erik replied gently, clearing his throat at the sudden praise, his eyes downcast a moment. Frankly, he didn't want to admit out loud that his initial thought was that she would simply grow into it. In his mind, a part of him still expected her to be the young girl he had left behind all those years ago. "I hope it fits comfortably."

"Well, let's see then." Rose smiled, brighter than he had seen in quite some time. Erik barely had the chance to say a word before she was up on her feet, the robe clutched lovingly to her chest as she all but rushed across the room and disappeared behind the screen by the wall.

Erik didn't know what made him glance up. He had been sitting there, gaze focused on his lap as he awaited her return. But something made him lift his head at what he would soon realise was an inopportune time. The light from the lantern was creating a shadow on the wall...a shadow of a particular silhouette in a state of, well, indecent undress.

Erik knew he should respect her privacy and avert his gaze. He knew that it was hardly proper despite the fact that it was merely a shadow, but try as he might, he couldn't look away. His eyes lingered as he watched the shadow unlaced its dress, pushing the garment down to reveal a rather womanly figure, one that he hadn't expected from the Rose he knew. Erik's eyes widened slightly as he felt his heart beat a little rapidly, though he admonished himself silently; knowing that he should be ashamed for allowing such things to happen. He was thankful as he saw the shadow move, averting his gaze finally as she stepped out from behind the screen, tying the robe closed.

"It fits so perfectly." She beamed, running her hands along the material at her waist, a sort of reverent tone to her voice. "What do you think?"

Erik felt himself freeze a little as he slowly but dutifully lifted his head to look at her. She was right, it fit perfectly. Gone was the dress that she had been wearing mere moments ago, leaving her in her in her undergarments, with the robe covering her modestly. It had been many years since she as in a state of undress like that, he couldn't help but notice. But Erik knew he had made the right choice with the colours; the purple from the silk making her hair far brighter than it was already, and the gold seemed to bring out the paleness of her skin with a hint of a blush. Despite her being covered, he could still notice the curves of her body, the robe doing very little to hide them, and for a moment, Erik was stuck dumb about how to feel about that. Though it took him a moment to snap out of it and return to his senses, nodding his head.

"It looks lovely, mon amie." He assured her, a small but true smile on his face. Rose smiled, her lip catching between her teeth slightly, thankful for the praise as she turned to clear some things off her bed. She fastened some pins in her hair, piling her red locks atop her head as she moved to get comfortable on her bed. After a moment, and an encouraging nod, Erik sat down on the other end, making himself comfortable, and let out a soft sigh as he began to tell her of his journey.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It seemed as though time stood still for the rest of the evening as the two sat, with Erik regaling Rose with tales of his adventures far abroad, and she listening with undivided attention. She was no longer tired, instead hanging on his every word. Hours passed without either of them realizing it, and it wouldn't be long until dawn, not that they minded at all.

"This Monsieur Khan seems to have been a rather good influence on you." She teased lightly, grinning at him as she pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin atop them. Erik merely hummed, rolling his eyes at that, making her smile all the more. He had just finished telling her of the Daroga and his aide in helping him leave Persia in one piece.

"Honestly Erik, by the sounds of it he's the reason you made it out of there with your life. Is it so wrong you've met another soul that you can consider a friend?" Rose wondered, brow raised in speculation.

"I would hardly consider him a 'friend'." Erik assured her, acting as though the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Merely an acquaintance. I owe him a debt."

Rose sent him a look, unsure of whether she believed that, or whether her friend was merely keeping up that wall of his; the one that she had spent so many years chipping away at until it started to crumble. Despite her refusal to believe him, she shrugged, dropping the matter.

"I must admit, I am envious." She admitted with a slight shrug of the shoulders. This time it was Erik who gave her a look of disbelief.

"Envious? Whatever for?" he asked, a slight scoff to his voice. He had all but run away from the Opera House, what did he do that she could have been at all envious for?

And for a moment, Rose felt almost shy; her gaze moving to her lap as she trailed her fingers along the embroidery on her robe.

"Just...the places you've been. The things you've been able to see? It's all the places I've read about in your books, I'm certain of it." she said with another light shrug. "Especially the ocean."

"The ocean?"

"Papa took us once; just he, Meg and I. It was only once, but it was wonderful." She said softly, a fondness to her voice, almost wistful. "A small beach, just outside of Paris. We sat on the sand and played in the waves until the sun got really low. It was the perfect day. I've longed to visit again."

Erik was silent a moment, taking it all in. Though he himself was not overly fond of the beach; too much sand and too much sun, he supposed he could appreciate her love of it. For someone who was intelligent beyond her years, Rose had lived a rather sheltered life, spending most of it within the walls of the opera house. That day at the beach with her father was likely the furthest she had ever been.

"Perhaps you will visit again." He offered, to which he received a small yet appreciative smile.

"Perhaps one day." She nodded, brushing a stray curl behind her ear, humming softly at the thought. "One day when I can no longer dance and they have no need of me. Maybe by then it will be Meg's turn?"

"Ahh yes. How is the littlest Giry?" Erik wondered, remembering the tiny blonde reincarnation of her mother, with far more energy than Antoinette could muster on her best of days. Rose smiled, though the small roll of the eyes did not go unnoticed.

"All grown up now. Thirteen years old and every bit the little ballerina that Madame has taught her to be." She said with a good natured sigh. "I have no doubt that her and Christine will be running the ballet in no time."

"Christine?"

They had fallen into conversation with such ease, that it had slipped her mind a moment for her to realize that Erik had yet to 'meet' the latest addition to the corps.

"Another dancer. Madame brought her here a few years ago after her father died." Rose explained.

"That seems to be a theme with your mother." Erik murmured, unable to resist the urge to roll his own eyes. Rose smiled, sending him a knowing look but said nothing.

" Oh, what was his name...Diae, no that's not right. Oh, Daaé , that's it."

"Daaé? As in Gustav Daaé ? The Swedish violinist?" Erik wondered, brow raised in surprise. He knew of the name, having heard it on his travels. But why a Swedish concert violinist's daughter ended up in the Paris Ballet corps was a little strange.

"Apparently so. I'm not entirely sure how it all came about really. Apparently Madame had been receiving letters from him before he died. They had been living in Paris for a time before he was ill. Suddenly she's gone for a few days and comes back with a child."

"Certainly a theme then." Erik said, easing back against the bedpost. "What's the girl like?"

"Sweet, but awfully shy. Not a bad dancer, but she just lacks the belief in herself. It drives Madame mad at times." Rose grinned, shaking her head.

"Can she sing?"

Rose had to smile at that. The one thing she was likely to be heartbroken about for the rest of her days was that she was not a singer, at least not one that could be trained for audiences. Erik had discovered that many years before.

"I've heard her once or twice. A sweet voice, I suppose. But she never lets anyone in close enough to hear her. Perhaps all she needs is the proper instruction."

Erik said nothing, merely nodding his head once as a means to end the conversation; though he soon found that the thought was far from leaving his mind. It was nothing, likely just another ballet rat who did not have what it takes to be a proper performer. There would be no point in wasting time and good music on someone such as that. Not when time seemed to be a precious commodity these days.

And yet the thought was still lurking about, well into the night.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Rose couldn't remember falling asleep at all, nor how she managed to wake up tucked up in bed under the covers, though she did highly suspect that her late night visitor had something to do with that. Letting out a yawn, she glanced around the room, and as she suspected, it was now morning, and Erik was nowhere to be seen. She did, however, notice that the rose he had gifted her was now in a small glass of water by her vanity mirror; the sight alone was enough to make her smile.

She was still in awe that it was real; that he was really home once more, after so many nights wishing it to be true. There was a part of her that felt bad for falling asleep at some point during their chat, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind that Erik minded at all. It wouldn't have been the first time it happened; although any time before that did not consist of several glasses – almost bottles – of wine flowing through her system.

The upside to having most of the company in attendance at the party the night before – and the fact that there was no performance that night – was that everyone would be rather sluggish to get up and about that morning. Sunday was usually the day of rest in the opera house. Those who wanted to would attend church, or spend the day with their families. Others would use the time to rehearse what they needed before the week started, while the rest would simply use the time to their advantage and sleep.

Pulling herself into a sitting position, Rose stretched her back, noticing that she was still dressed in her robe from the night before. A smile graced her lips as he examined her gift in the light, still taken back by its beauty. She had never owned anything as fine in her life, and likely never will again, but it was the source of the gift that was giving her the most joy.

For the first time in years, Rose felt lighter; as though she feared no wrong could happen, and she didn't feel that underlying sense of loss that had plagued her for seven long years. Perhaps it was enough to know that Erik had returned, and was somewhere within the walls of the opera house, to put a smile on her face. But the night before, seeing him there in the flesh, every bit the same as she remembered in her dreams, it made her feel...whole. They had spent hours talking, something she could do with very few people, and none in the way that was so carefree and natural as it was when she spoke with Erik. It was simply perfect.

Yes, Rose had a newfound spring in her step as she got out of bed that morning, all but dancing to her vanity mirror to inspect her reflection. The effects of the alcohol consumed the night before had been kind to her, and had all but vanished without a trace; the same she knew would likely not be said for others who partook in the festivities.

Before she had much of a chance to wake up properly, a commotion could be heard outside in the halls. Furrowing her brow, she tightened her robe around her waist and moved to the door to try and make out what the fuss was. Opening her door, Rose found few of the younger ballet rats being ushered out of the way, all murmuring in hushed, panicked tones. It was rather confusing, and there wasn't much that seemed to explain what was going on.

"Charlotte!" Rose exclaimed, noticing a familiar face in the crowd, tugging the young and slightly buzzing girl over to her. "What on earth is going on?"

"It's Monsieur Lefèvre. Word is going round saying that he found a note on his desk this morning. People are claiming that he has returned!" She gushed, almost bursting with giddy excitement.

"Who has?" Rose asked in confusion.

"The Phantom of the Opera!"

And with that, the young girl was pulled away by her friends, returning to their gossip down the hall. Rose watched in bewilderment before a smile overtook her face. He had hardly been back a night and yet Erik was already making it well known that he was back home and ready to take his mantle once again. The thought made her chuckle to herself, shaking her head. While she had no use for the title herself, she had to admit that she had missed his theatrics.

"Girls, I know that you all have better places to be than to be loitering in the halls." Madame's voice rang out, shaking Rose out of her thoughts. The girls were quick to hurry, making themselves scarce as Antoinette made her way down the hall, closely followed by Meg and Christine, looking about the place with wonder.

"Rose! Wherever did you get that robe? It's beautiful!" Her sister cried; both her and Christine appearing at her side, her hands reaching almost hesitantly to touch the fabric. Rose smiled softly, and did not glance in her mother's direction, already feeling the heat from her gaze on her.

"It was a gift." She said simply, taking a chance and looking over at Antoinette for a mere split second. The woman said nothing, and yet her eyes spoke volumes.

"Oh, I've never seen anything like it." Christine gushed, her voice soft, almost in awe.

"And did you hear? The Phantom! He's returned! I wonder where..." Meg gushed suddenly, but was soon cut off by her mother clearing her throat, sparing her a warning glance. The petite blonde was silenced quickly, but not before sending a knowing wink to her elder sister, before her mother ushered both her and Christine away.

Rose fought back another smile as she leaned against the doorway of her room. Oh yes, he was back, and things were sure to change once more, and rather quickly at that.

oOoOoOoOoOo

News of the Opera Ghost's apparent return spread like wildfire throughout the opera house, sending everyone into a mix of restlessness and excitement. Those in management were doing their best to assure everyone that this was nothing more than a prank, and if the fabled Phantom had returned, it would do nothing to disrupt their daily goings. Though even then, the look of fear that filled Monsieur Lefèvre's face did not go unnoticed by some.

Amongst the commotion, there were still some who had not been part of the workings of the opera house long enough to know of the Opera Ghost, or his history with the Opera Populaire. Two such people, were Nicholas and Christine, who seemed to be observing it all from the sidelines in confusion; she with a slight concern, and the former with a hint of disbelief.

"This is all quite absurd. You know that don't you?" he asked, leaning against the prop statue just side stage. It was rehearsal once more, no manner of ghosts or phantoms could stop that if management had anything to say about it. Meg and Christine were sitting with him, indulging in a few moments of reprieved granted by Madame before they were needed back on stage.

"But it's not, you see? The Phantom is real!" Meg insisted, practically bouncing in her seat on the floor. She ushered herself to his side, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. "He overseas everything in the opera house, making sure that the management does exactly as he asks. But nobody has heard of him since I was a little girl, and now he's back!"

"You're frightfully excited for something that seems rather hazardous." He smirked, shaking her grip off of his arm playfully, rolling his eyes. Meg side, deciding to give up for now, knowing he was likely not to be swayed without any evidential proof.

"I'm right, you'll see." She huffed, sticking her tongue out at him before her mother called them back on stage.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Since his return, Erik had been decidedly low-key, in comparison to his previous addresses to the so called 'management'. He merely left a note on Lefèvre's desk, informing of his return and that he would be keeping an eye on production, to ensure that the standards that were held for his beloved opera house were upheld and that Box Five would return to his sole possession. The fact that word got out rather quickly was by no means attributed to his own fault.

He had admittedly found it rather surprising at how easy he found it to slip back into his old life. The stores of the opera house where he had once considered his domain had been untouched since his departure; not even Rose had ventured down to the depths in his absence; a fact which equally surprised and disheartened him, which he found to be rather strange. Though it was nothing to dwell on; he had much more pressing matters to attend to. At least that's what he found him trying to convince himself of.

When rehearsals resumed, the night of the performance growing closer, Erik found himself in his usual seat in Box Five; glad to see that Lefèvre had kept some hint of his senses and refused it to anyone other than himself. If he was being honest with himself, Erik missed more aspects of the Opera Populaire than he would care to admit. There was a sense of faint familiarity watching everyone darting about the stage was the orchestra tuned rather wretchedly, that gave him a feeling he couldn't quite place, so he spent very little time concerned with it.

His main focus there, of course, was Rose. Though he had no doubt in her abilities, there was a nervous feel in his veins, which of course he tried to do away with as quickly as it had appeared. What did he have to be nervous about? She had proven on more than one occasion that she was more than capable of handling herself, particularly when it came to dance. So for a moment, he would ignore the ill-tuned violin in the second chair of the pit; the background set that was hardly considered evenly hanging in the rigging, and the cloud of rats that were bursting in the wings, preparing to run onto stage. He was solely focused on her.

"So, it is true then?"

Erik had no need to turn around, having heard the familiar footfalls long before she had spoken. Whether or not he had permitted her to come in, she would have made herself welcome no matter what.

"Hello to you too, Antoinette." He mused dryly, not taking his eyes from the stage as she moved further into the booth. "It's been a while."

"Why are you back?" She asked; her tone still sharp as a whip. He should have expected her to not dance around the subject with pleasantries. Those days were few and far between for the two of them, they both knew that for certain. Erik sighed, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"This is my home, is it not? As much as it is yours, I should think."

Antoinette huffed, though she didn't say a word. Instead she moved silently in the booth as the orchestra began to play; moving to sit down in the vacant seat beside him, glancing down at the stage below.

"You left. You left her without so much as a word. For months, she hardly slept or ate. She was heartbroken." She murmured, no need to address who she was referring. But it was her chosen words that made a kind of anger surge through his veins, enough to warrant a short huff of disbelief to fall from his lips.

"Do not try to convince us both that you care for her, Madame. It does not become you, and it makes liars of us both." He all but sneered, finally turning in his seat to address her properly since her arrival. Antoinette said nothing, keeping her head raised, not allowing herself to be drawn in and affected by his words. After a moment, the music began to swell and she knew that the girls would soon be on stage. Wordlessly, she stood to take her leave.

"I will be requiring your services again, I should think." Erik informed her, not turning his gaze from the stage. "And tell Lefèvre that I will need collection for my salary."

Saying nothing, Antoinette managed a firm nod of the head before taking her leave from the box, the curtain falling closed behind her. Erik sighed, though not surprised at her actions really. The Antoinette who he had known so long ago was but a distant memory it seemed to the woman who was beside him only moments ago.

But the thought was not long in mind as the music changed, to something that Erik was surprised to find reasonably tolerable. As the ballet chorus parted slightly on stage, he leaned forward in his seat; arms resting against the ledge as she made her way out onto stage.

The lights were warm on her skin as she moved across the stage, a smile on her lips that she could not keep away as she let the music consume her; taking over her. The thrill of being on that stage, audience or not, was something that Rose was sure she would never get used to – or tire of – for the rest of her days. She felt as though even for a moment r two, those pieces of herself that she had gone so long without were finally part of her once more, making her whole. But more than that, she could feel his eyes on her. She didn't even have to glance up to know for sure. For too long, Rose had dreamed of the day where he would be there in the audience; gazing down at her as she showed him just how hard she had worked. She wanted him to be proud of her, and now she finally had her wish come true.

Erik could not take his eyes off her; finding himself utterly and completely mesmerized. He had seen many beautiful things in his life; those who held no beauty in themselves as he seemed to have a talent for finding it in others. But nothing seemed to compare to watching her on stage; seeming as though her sole purpose in life was to be there. Rose had a natural skill, one that he knew she had worked on relentlessly since she could walk, but there was something else. Unlike many of the dancers who had graced the stage before her, Rose was consumed; throwing her very soul into it. She was happy. Some did it for the fame, others for the money and the glory, but not her. Rose did it for the love of dance, and that was more than clear on her face. Her smile alone was lighting up the room. Erik felt breathless, unable to move from that spot.

She was perfection.

There in the shadows, Erik found himself smiling with her, proud and completely enraptured. For a moment, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life.


End file.
